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EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

20 and 31 Beekman Street, New York, N. i\ 

p. O. Box 1144. 



BURDETT'S 



HEROIC 



Recitations /^Readings 



EDITED AND ARRANGED BY THE TALENTED 
•J n ELOCUTIONIST, 

' 7 AMES .a,JiuLRDETT 



/< '""Bh?>-aiSHr. '"*<5^. 



ly lAR 5 tOOg 



New York : 

EXCELSIOR PUBLISHINO HOUSE. 

29 AKD 31 Beeeman Street. 






^ 



COPYRIGHT, 1SS4, 

BY 

EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Ballad of Roland Clare, The 105 

Battle of Fontenoy, The Thomas Davis 5 

Battle of I vry, The Macaiilay 24 

Battle of Morgarten, The Mrs. Hcmans 117 

Beau T. H. Robertson 73 

Beth Gelert W. L. Spencer 95 

Bill Gibbon's Deliverance ArtJutr Matthiscn 46 

Bill Mason's Bride Chiquita TJ 

Caldwell of Springfield Bra Harte 1 12 

Charge of the Light Brigade, The -l If red Tennyson 20 

Christian Maiden and the Lion, The . , Francis A. Diirivage 61 

Cowardly Jim IV. A. Peters 13 

Curfew must not Ring To-Xight 90 

Death of ' ' Old Braze " " Detroit Free Press " 152 

Defence of Lucknow, The Alfred Tennyson 83 

Diver, The Schiller 146 

Downfall of Poland, The Campbell 26 

Execution of Montrose, The Aytoiin 123 

Execution of Queen Mary Lamariine 87 

Father John Pelcg Arkwright 150 

Fireman, The Robert 7\ Conrad 41 

Glove and the Lions, The I-'^igh Hunt 1 14 

Henry of Navarre before Paris Xora Perry 81 

Heroism Hale ^ 

Herve Riel Robert Broioning 1 19 

How he Saved St. Michael's Mary A. P. Statisbiiry 92 

How Jane Conquest Rang the Bell James Milne 9 

In the Tunnel Bret Harte 128 



4 CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Jim Bludso John Hay 60 

John Bartholomew's Ride G. II. Jennings 44 

John Maynard 22 

Kate Maloney .' Geo, R. Sims 141 

Karl the Martyr 69 

Last Redoubt, The Alfred Austin 53 

Leaguer of Lucknow, The Ja7iies Reed 55 

Leap of Roushan Beg, The Henry W. Longfellora) 126 

Little Hero, The Arthur Matthison 97 

Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott 28 

Main Truck, The ; or, A Leap for Life Walter Colton 33 

Marco Bozzaris .' Fitz-Greene Halleck 67 

Martyrs of Sandomir, The 17 

'-)'Murtogh Robert Buchanan 38 

Phil Blood's Leap : Robert Buchanaji 133 

Polish Boy, The Ann S. Stephens loi 

Ride of Jennie McNeal, The Will Carlefon 49 

Sergeant's Story, The, of the Light Brigade 34 

Seventh Fusileers, The Kinglake 42 

Ship on P'ire, The Henry Bateman 63 

Spanish Armada, The Lord Macaulay 79 

•Spanish Mother, The Sir IVancis Hastings Doyle 29 

Supporting the Guns '■'Detroit Free Press " 130 

Tom Constance Fenimore Woolson 144 

Trooper's Story, The Willia?n Sawyer 58 

True Hero, A R. H. Conwell 108 



BURDETT'S 

HEROIC 

RECITATIONS AND READINGS. 



THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 

Thrice, at the heights of Fontenoy, the English column failed, 
And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed ; 
For town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery, 
And well they swept, the English ranks, and Dutch auxiliary. 
As vainly through De Barri's wood the P3ritish soldiers burst, 
The French artillery drove them back, diminished and dispersed. 
The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye, 
And ordered up his last reserve, his latest chance to try. 
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, how fast his generals ride ! 
And mustering come his chosen troops, like clouds at eventide. 
Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread. 
Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Eord Hay is at their head ; 
Steady they step adown the .slope — steady they climb the hill ; 
Steady they load — steady they fire, moving right onward still, 
Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through a furnace blast, 
Through rampart, trench and palisade, and bullets showering fast; 
And, on the open plain above, they rose, and kept their course, 
With ready fire and grim resolve that mocked at hostile force. 
Past Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks — 
They break, as broke the Zuyder Zee through Holland's ocean 

banks ! 
More idly than the summer flies, French tirailleurs rush around, 
As stubble to the lava tide, French squadrons strew the ground ; 



6 THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY. 

Bomb-shell, and grape, and round shot tore, still on they marched 
and fired — 

Fast from each volley grenadier and voltigeur retired. 

"Push on, my household cavalry ! " King Louis madly cried ; 

To death they rush, but rude their shock — not unavenged they 
died. 

On through the camp the column trod — King Louis turns his 
rein : 

** Not yet, my liege," Saxe mterposed, " the Irish troops remain ; " 

And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a Waterloo, — 

Were not these exiles ready then, fresh, vehement and true ? 

"Lord Clare," he says, "you have your wish, there are your 
Saxon foes ! " 

The Marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously he goes ! 

How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay, 

The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day — 

The treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could dry, 

Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's part- 
ing cry. 

Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country over- 
thrown — 

Each looks as if revenge for all was staked on him alone. 

On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere 

Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were. 

O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he commands, 

" Fix bayonets ! Charge ! " Like mountain storm rush on these 
fiery bands ! 

Thin is the English column now, and faint their volleys grow, 

Yet must'ring all the strength they have, they make a gallant 
show. 

They dress their ranks upon the hill to face that battle-wind— 

Their bayonets the breakers' foam ; like rocks the men behind ! 

One volley crashes from their line, when through the surging 
smoke, 

With empty guns clutched in their hands, the headlong Irish 
broke. 

On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza ! 

" Revenrre ! remember Limerick ! dash down the Sassanach I " 



HEROISM. 7 

Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's pang, 

Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang ; 

Bright was their steel — 'tis bloody now ; their guns are filled with 
gore ; 

Through shattered ranks, and severed files, and trampled flags 
they tore ; 

The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, stag- 
gered, fled — 

The green hill-side is matted close with dying and with dead. 

Across the plain, and far away, passed on that hideous wrack, 

While cavalier and fantassin dash in^upon their track. 

On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun, 

With bloody plumes the Irish stand — the field is fought and won 1 

Thomas Davis. 



HEROISM. 



The heroic element enters largely into the world's ex- 
perience, and assumes phases as various as the stages 
of its history. Very different is the unflinching he- 
roism of John Maynard, standing, with scathed eyes 
and crisped hands, on the deck of a burning steamer, 
and guiding her in safety amid an agony of fire, and 
that of John Huss, perishing so calmly on the funeral 
pyre of Constance. One was inspired duty, the other 
the divinity of faith. One was the highest type of hu- 
man courage, the other the grandest form of Christian 
sacrifice. One was the Mecca of earthly immortality, 
the other the portal of the heavenly life. 

There is a heroism of patriotism. It is seen in the 
bravery of a Leonidas ; in the " Don't give up the ship " 
of a Lawrence ; in the dying words of a Warren ; in 
the sacrifice of the " Little Regiment ; " ni a Farragut 
lashed to the main-too of the Hartford. 



8 HEROISM. 

The grandest heroism, however, and that which em- 
bodies all others, is the heroism of the Cross. Its 
achievements are seldom noted ; its deeds and its de- 
votion rarely told. 

The last beams of the setting sun fall on the gray 
walls and ivy-crowned turrets of a convent, and, flash- 
ing through an open casement, light up with a tremu- 
lous glory the face of a dying nun. Her life of love, of 
devotion, of perfect purity, is nearly ended. No 
thoughts of time misspent or opportunities neglected, no 
recollection of cold charity, no shadow of crime, no 
echo of wrong, harass her last moments. Her life ebbs 
so peacefully, that the balmy air of evening, redolent 
with the perfume of flowers, and thrilling with Nature's 
vesper hymn, lullabies her dreamless sleep long after 
her ears are deaf to its melody. No minute guns, no 
flags at half mast, no nation in tears because her spirit 
has departed. Only the low sob of the organ, the 
solemn chant of sorrowing sisters, or, perchance, the 
tearful prayer of some whose pain she has soothed, 
whose sorrow she has cheered. Hers was an earthly 
mission and a heavenly reward ; and the true heroism 
of her life realizes its perfection when her enraptured 
soul thrills with the praise of the angles and the '* Well 
done " of the Infinite. 

There is also a heroism of self-sacrifice. When 
the life-boats were crowded so they could not hold an- 
other, the old captain stood proudly on the deck of the 
sinking vessel ; refused to go on board , refused to 
risk the lives of a score that he might save his own. 
" The old ship and I have weathered many a gale to- 
gether, and I'll not desert her now, when she's almost 



HOW JANE CONQUEST RANG THE BELL. 9 

slipped her cable. So shove off, my hearties ! shore 
off ! and if the admiral asks for me, tell him that I and 
the ' Witch of the Wave ' sleep breast to breast at the 
bottom of Davy Jones' locker." 

There is, too, a heroism of genuine devotion to 
principle, sometimes akin to patriotism. Such was the 
heroism of Alexander H. Stephens in his blind adher- 
ence to an erring State, of Stonewall Jackson in his 
idolatry of Southern rights, and of Lord Byron in his 
death for struggling Greece and a lost cause. — Hale. 



HOW JANE CONQUEST RANG THE BELL, 

'TwAS about the time of Christmas, a many years ago, 

When the sky was black with wrath and rack, and the earth was 
white with snow, 

When loudly rang the tumult of winds and waves at strife ; 

In her home by the sea, with her babe on her knee, sat Harry 
Conquest's wife. 

And he was on the waters, she knew not, knew not where, 

For never a lip could tell of the ship to lighten her heart's de- 
spair. 

And her babe was dying, dying, the pulse in the tiny wrist 

Was all but still, and the brow was chill, and pale as the white 
sea mist. 

Jane Conquest's heart was hopeless, she could only weep, and 
pray 

That the Shepherd mild would take the child painlessly away. 

The night grew deeper and deeper, and the storm had a stronger 

will, 
And buried in deep and dreamless sleep lay the hamlet under the 

hill. 



10 HOW JANE CONQUEST RANG THE BELL. 

And the fire was dead on the hearthstone within Jane Conquest's 

room, 
And still sat she with her babe on her knee, at prayer amid the 

gloom, 
When, borne above the tempest, a sound fell on her ear, 
Thrilling her through, for well she knew 'twas a voice of mortal 

fear. 
And a light leapt in at the lattice, sudden and swift and red. 
Crimsoning all the whited wall, and the floor and the roof o'er- 

head. 
It shone with a radiant glory on the face of the dying child, 
Like a fair first ray of the shadowless day of the land of the un- 

defiled ; [new, 

And it lit up the mother's features with a glow so strange and 
That the white despair that had gathered there seemed changed 

to hope's own hue. 
For one brief moment, heedless of the babe upon her knee. 
With the frenzied start of a frighted heart, up to her feet rose 

she; 
And thro' the quaint old casement she looked upon the sea — 
Thank God, that the sight she saw that night so rare a sight 

should be. 
Hemm'd in by hungry billows, whose madness foam'd at lip. 
Half a mile from the shore, or hardly more, she saw a gallant 

ship 
Aflame from deck to topmast, aflame from stem to stern, 
For there seemed no speck on all the wreck where the fierce fire 

did not burn. 
And the night was like a sunset, and the sea like a sea of blood, 
And the rocks and the shore were bathed all o'er as by some gory 

flood. 
She looked and looked, till the terror crept cold thro' every limb, 
And her breath came quick, and her heart turned sick, and her 

sight grew dizzy and dim. 
And her lips had lost their utterance; though she strove, she 

could not speak, 
But her feeling found no channel of sound in prayer, or sob, or 
shriek. 



H0V7 JANE CONQUEST RANG THE BELL. II 

Silent she stood and rigid, with her child to her bosom prest, 
Like a woman of stone, with stiff arms thrown round a stony babe 

at breast ; 
Till once more that cry of anguish thrill'd thro' the tempest's 

strife, 
And it stirr'd again in her heart and brain the active, thinking 

life; 
And the light of an inspiration leapt to her brightened eye, 
And on lip and brow was written now a purpose pure and high. 
Swiftly she turn'd and softly she crossed the chamber floor, 
And faltering not, in his tiny cot she laid the babe she bore ; 
And then, with a holy impulse, she sank to her knees and made 
A lowly prayer in the silence there, and this was the prayer she 

prayed : 
" Christ, who didst bear the scourging, but now dost wear the 

crown, 
I at Thy feet, O true and sweet, would lay my burden down. 
Thou badest me love and cherish the babe Thou gavest me, 
And I have kept Thy word, nor stept aside from following Thee ; 
And, lo ! the boy is dying, and vain is all my care, 
And my burden's weight is very great I yea, greater than I can 

bear. [lives; 

And, Lord, Thou know'st what peril doth threat these poor men's 
I; a lone woman, most weak and human, plead for their waiting 

wives. 
Thou canst not let them perish ; up. Lord, in Thy strength, and 

save 
From the scorching breath of this terrible death on the cruel 

winter wave. 
Take Thou my babe and watch it, no care is like to Thine, 
And let Thy power, in this perilous hour, supply what lack is 

mine." 

And so her prayer she ended, and rising to her feet, 

Turned one look to the cradle nook where the child's faint pulses 

beat; 
And then w^ith softest footsteps retrod the chamber floor. 
And noiselessly groped for the latch, and oped and crossed the 

cottage door. 



12 HOW JANE CONQUEST RANG THE BELL. 

The snow lay deep, and drifted as far as sight could reach, 
Save where alone the dank weed strewn did mark the sloping 

beach. 
But, whether 'twas land or ocean, or rock, or sand, or snow, 
Or sky o'erhead, on all was shed the same fierce, fatal glow. 
And thro' the tempest bravely Jane Conquest fought her way, 
By snowy deep and slippery steep, to where her goal lay. 
And she gain'd it, pale and breathless, and weary, and sore, and 

faint, 
But with soul possess'd with the strength, and zest, and ardor of 

a saint. 
Silent and weird, and lonely amid its countless graves, 
Stood the old gray church on its tall rock perch, secure from the 

flood's great waves. 
And beneath its sacred shadow lay the hamlet safe and still, 
For howsoever the sea and the wind might be, 'twas quiet under 

the hill. 
Jane Conquest reached the churchyard, and stood by the old 

church door; 
But the oak was tough, and had bolts enough, and her strength 

was frail and poor. 
So she crept through a narrow window and climbed the belfry 

stair, 
And grasp'd the rope, sole cord of hope for the mariners in de- 
spair. 
And the wild wind help'd her bravely, and she wrought with an 

earnest will. 
And the clamorous bell spake out right well to the hamlet under 

the hill. 
And it roused the slumb'ring fishers, nor its warning task gave 

o'er 
Till a hundred fleet and eager feet were hurrying to the shore ; 
And then it ceased its ringing, for the woman's work was done, 
And many a boat that was now afloat showed man's work was 

begun. 

Ikit the ringer in the belfry lay motionless and cold. 

With the cord of hope, the church-bell rope, still in her frozen 

hold. 



COWARDLY JIM. I 3 

How long she lay it boots not, but she woke from her swoon at 

last, 
In her own bright room, to find the gloom and the grief of the 

peril past. 
With a sense of joy within her, and the Christ's sweet presence 

near. 
And friends around, and the cooing sound of her babe's voice in 

her ear ; 
And they told her all the story, how a brave and gallant few 
O'ercame each check, and reached the wreck, and saved the hap- 
less crew ; 
And how the curious sexton had climbed the belfry stair, 
And of his fright, when, cold and white, he found her lying there; 
And how, when they had borne her back to her home again, 
The child she left, with a heart bereft of hope, and wrung with 

pain, 
Was found within its cradle in a quiet slumber laid, 
With a peaceful smile on its lips the while, and the wasting sick- 
ness stay'd. 
And she said 'twas Christ that watched it, and brought it safely 

through, 
And she praised His truth, and His tender ruth, who had saved 

her darling too. 
And then there came a letter across the surging foam, 
And last the breeze that over the seas bore Harry Conquest 

home. 
And they told him all the stor}^ that still their children tell, 
Of the fearful sight on that winter night, and the ringing of the 
bell. 

James Milne. 



COWARDLY JIM. 

It's not much of a story, stranger, 
But what there is of it I'll tell. 

We found the young chap on the prairie, 
Where he said he got lost, and, well, 



14 COWARDLY JIM. 

It was something about the Black Hills, 

And going on foot and sich trash ; 
We freely remarked that, for a fellow with brains, 

W^e regarded him somewhat rash. 

His answer was thin, too, when Johnson said, 

" P'raps 3'ou won't mind, pard, just giving a bit 
Of your personal history to pass off the time." 

"As a rule of his life he'd not mention it," 
Was just what he said; but we made up our minds 

That before he'd got out of the plains 
His fingers had, rather too freely, 

Stuck onto the wrong bridle-reins. 

And that he had slipped the committee, 

Or something pretty much the same cut ; 
So he wouldn't talk out in the meeting, 

But wisely kept his under-jaw shut. 
Drive him off ! Why, durn it all, stranger, 

We wern't that kind of hairpins ; 
When you find a man starving on the prairie, 

It's no time to talk of old sins. 

We fed him just like a young baby, 

On spoon vittles and such soothing things, 
Until his stomach got stronger. 

Then he tackled jerked venison, by jinks. 
He hitched on the centre at camp-building time, 

For darn his picture if he'd work a bit ; 
But we made ourselves understood plain enough, 

By the simple remark, " You work or git." 

Brown called him durned Cowardly Jim, 

And a cussed mean skunk, and all sich ; 
Why, not even a kick he resented 

That Jones gave him down at the ditch. 
And somehow we all got to hate him. 

Till he hadn't a friend in camp. 
And one day we said that at sundown 

He'd leave, or we'd hang the durned scamp. 



COWARDLY JIM. 1 5 

He looked kinder lonesome and sad, 

Getting ready to leave us that night; 
But some warm work in camp soon after 

Just gave him a kind of respite. 
A scout had come in and said " Injuns 1 " . 

Well, anybody knows what that meant 
Who has been down on the Rosebud 

Where Custer and his brave boys went. 

Them Injuns just made our camp lively, 

And Jim, he pulled trigger with the rest, 
He put in some good shots, stranger, 

Which helped send the devils back west. 
But a woman rushed in all frantic, 

And said that, while hid in a trough, 
The red devils ransacked the ranche, 

And had carried her baby off. 

Was there a man in camp who dared 

To venture the rescue, one, or all ; 
Not a man, nor the whole camp would go. 

'Twas sure death to venture within shot or call 
Of the Sioux with fleet ponies and fatal aim ; 

But that " Cowardly Jim " just quietly said, 
" If he wasn't intrudin' on any one's right. 

He'd bring back the baby alive or dead." 

That stirred things in camp some, you reckon? 

Yes, 'twas queer kind of language for Jim ; 
But, stranger, between me and you. 

The daringest thing on earth for him 
Was to mount that little pony and go, 

As he did, and face death, as he said, 
And ride where the bravest dare not ride, 

To bring back that baby alive or dead. 

'Twas many a prayer that went up for Jim, 

And many a tear that fell to the ground. 
As we watched him going over the hill. 

While a pin would have dropped with a sound. 



COWARDLY JIM. 

And then we saw him racing for life, 

With red devils in swift pursuit ; 
A riderless pony, every minute or so. 

And a puff of smoke told when Jim would shoot. 

He reeled and fell from the saddle ; 

That's the blood-stained floor where he laid, 
And he smiled as he said, " Here's the baby; 

Never mind the price that I paid." 
We knew that his time was all up, 

Brave, noble, old Cowardly Jim. 
We raised him in our arms to die, 

And, stranger, thar wus angles with him. 

" My baby is waiting for me," he said, 

" At those gates of pearl, I feel ; 
Husband, you wronged me ; some day you'll know 

That your Mamie was true as steel." 
Why, what could he mean by all that .'' 

His husband ? Jim was out of his head. 
We laid bare the bosom, and, O God ! 

'Twas a woman whose life had fled ! 

That's her grave over there on the hill. 

Away from home, husband and all ; 
" Miamie " is all we carved on it, 

And alone there she'll wait the last call. 
It wasn't much of a story, stranger, 

But such as it was I have told ; 
And, of all the treasure we found in the Hills, 

That heart was the purest gold. 

W. A. Pde, 



THE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR. 1 7 



TITE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR. 

THIS BEAUTIFUL POEM IS SUPPOSED TO HAVE BEEN 
WRITTEN BY MONSEIGNEUR CAPEL. 

Six hundred years ago, one night, 

The monks of Sandomir 
Had chanted matms in the choir, 

And then sat down to hear 
The lesson from the martyrs' lives 

For the ensuing day r 
For thus the Blessed Dominic 

Had taught his sons the way 
To sanctify the hours that men 

In pleasure or in sleep 
Are wont to spend and they took care 

His holy rule to keep. 

The book lay open on the desk 

At the appointed page ; 
The youngest novice, who was scarce 

More than a boy in age, 
Stood up to sing, and on the book 

Looked down with earnest eyes. 
At once across his features stole 

A movement of surprise ; 
And then, with clear and steady voice, 

He sang " The Fortv'-nine 
Martyrs of Sandomir " — and laid 

His finger on the line. 
Sadoc, the Prior, almost knew 

By heart that holy book. 
And, rising in his stall, he called 

With a reproving look 



1 8 THE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR. 

The novice to his side, and said, 
" My son, what hast thou sung ? 

From jests within these sacred walls 
'Twere meet to keep thy tongue." 

" Father," the novice answered meek, 

" The words are written all 
Upon this page ; " and brought it straight 

To Sadoc in his stall. 
Th' illuminated parchment shone 

With gold and colors bright, 
But brighter far than all the rest, 

With an unearthly light, 
Beam'd forth the words the youth had sung. 

The Prior saw the sign, 
And said, " My brethren, 'tis from God ; 

Are we not forty-nine ? 
It is a message from our Lord — 

Rejoice ! for by his grace, 
To-morrow we shall be in Heaven, 

To-morrow see his face. 
What matter if the way be hard 

And steep that leads us there ? 
The time is short. Let us make haste, 

And for our death prepare." 
Then one by one at Sadoc's feet 

The monks their sins confessed 
With true contrition, and rose up 

In peace, absolved and blessed. 
And when the eastern sunbeams came 

In through the window tall, 
Sadoc, the Prior, said Mass, and gave 

The Bread of Life to all. 

***** 
Like other days that wondrous day 

The holy brethren spent ; 
As their rule bade them, to their meals, 

To work, to prayer they went; 



THE MARTYRS OF SANDOMIR. I9 

Only from time to time they said, 

" Why are the hours so long ? 
We thought we should have been ere now 

Joining the angels' song." 
The evening came, the complin bell 

Had called them to the choir — 
*' God grant us all a perfect end/' 

In blessing said the Prior. 

And when the complin psalms were sung, 

They chanted at the end — 
" Into Thy hands, my Lord and God, 

My spirit I commend." 
Again, and yet again rose up 

Those words so calm and sweet, 
As when an echo from a rock 

Doth some clear note repeat. 

Fierce war-cries now were heard without, 

Blows shook the convent gate : 
The heathen Tartar hordes had come 

With fury filled and hate. 
The brethren heeded not, nor heard 

The clamor of their foes ; 
For from their lips the holy hymn, 

" Salve Regina," rose. 
And two and two in order rang'd 

They passed down through the nave, 
And when they turned and kneeled, the Prior 

The holy water gave. 
But as they sang, " O Mother dear, 

When this life's exile's o'er, 
Show us the face of Christ, thy Son," 

The Tartars burst the door. 

With savage yells and shouts they came, 

With deadly weapons bare, 
On murder and on plunder bent; — 

The sight that met them there, 



20 THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Of that white-rob'd, undaunted band, 

Kneeling so calm and still, , 
A moment checked them in their course — 

The next, the pow'rs of ill 
Had urged them on, and they began 

Their work of blood and death. 
Nor stayed their hands till all the monks 

Had yielded up their breath. 
So Sadoc and his brethren all 

At Sandomir were slain : 
Six hundred years in Heaven have paid 

That hour of bitter pain. 

Anon. 



THE CHARGE OE THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 

Half a league, half a league. 
Half a league omvard, 
All in the valley of Death, 
Rode the six hundred. 
" Forv.ard, the Light Brigade I 
" Charge for the guns ! " he said. 
Into the valley of Death 
Rode the six hundred. 

" Forward, the Light Brigade \ "* 
Was there a man dismay'd.'' 
Not tho' the soldiers knew 

Some one had blunder'd: 
Theirs not to make reply, 
Theirs not to reason why. 
Theirs but to do and die. 
Lito the valley of Death 

Rode the six hundred. 

Cannon to light of them, 
Cannon to left of them. 



THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. 2J 

Cannon in front of them 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; • 
Storm'd at %vith shot and shell, 
Boldly they rode and well, 

Into the jaws of Death, 
Into the mouth of Hell 

Rode the six hundred. 

Flash'd ali their sabres bare, 
Flash'd as they turn'd in air, 
Sabring the gunners there, 
Charging an army, while 

All the world wonder'd : 
Plunged iu the battery-smoke, 
Right thro' the line they broke ; 
Cossack and Russian 
Reel'd from the sabre-stroke, 

Shatter'd and sunder'd. 
Then they rode back, but not. 

Not the six hundred. 

Cannon to right of them. 
Cannon to left of them, 
Cannon behind them 

Volley'd and thunder'd ; 
Storm'd at with shot and shell, 
While horse and hero fell. 
They that had fought so well 
Came thro' the jaws of Death, 
Back from the mouth of Hell, 
All that was left of them, 

Left of six hundred. 

When can their glory fade ? 
Oh, the wild charge they made I 

All the world wonder'd. 
Honor the charge they made 1 
Honor the Light Brigade ! 

Noble six hundred ! Tonivsoii. 



22 JOHN MAYNARD. 



JOHN MA YNARD, 

'TwAS on Lake Erie's broad expanse. 

One bright midsummer day, 
The gallant steamer Ocean Queen 

Swept proudly on her way. 
Bright faces clustered on the deck, 

Or leaning o'er the side, 
Watched carelessly the feathery foam 

That flecked the rippling tide. 
Ah, who beneath that cloudless sky, 

That smiling bends serene, 
Could dream that danger, awful, vast, 

Impended o'er the scene — 
Could dream that ere an hour had sped. 

That frame of sturdy oak 
Would sink beneath the lake's blue waves, 

Blackened with fire and smoke ? 
A seaman sought the captain's side, 

A moment whispered low ; 
The captain's swarthy face grew pale, 

He hurried down below. 
Alas, too late ! Though quick and sharp 

And clear his orders came. 
No human efforts could avail 

To quench th' insidious flame. 
The bad news quickly reached the deck. 

It sped from lip to lip. 
And ghastly faces everywhere 

Looked from the doomed ship. 
"Is there no hope— no chance of life?" 

A hundred lips implore ; 
" But one," the captain made reply— 

" To run the ship on shore." 



JOHN MAYNARD. 23 

A sailor, whose heroic soul 

That hour should yet reveal — 
By name John Maynard, eastern born — 

Stood calmly at the wheel. 
" Head her south-east ! " the captain shouts, 

Above the smothered roar, 
*' Head her south-east without delay ! 

Make for the nearest shore ! " 
No terror pales the helmsman's cheek, 

Or clouds his dauntless eye. 
As in a sailor's measured tone 

His voice responds, " Ay, ay ! " 
Three hundred souls — the steamer's freight — 

Crowd forward wild with fear. 
While at the stern the dreadful flames 

Above the deck appear. 
John Maynard watched the nearing flames, 

But still, with steady hand 
He grasped the wheel, and steadfastly 

He steered the ship to land. 
" John Maynard," with an anxious voice 

The captain cries once more, 
" Stand by the wheel five minutes yet, 

And we will reach the shore." 
Through flames and smoke that dauntless heart 

Responded firmly still, 
Unav/ed, though face to face with death, 

" With God's good help I will ! " 
The flames approach with giant strides. 

They scorch his hands and brow ; 
One arm disabled seeks his side, 

Ah, he is conquered now ! 
But no ! his teeth are firmly set, 

He crushes downi the pain — 
His knee upon the stanchion pressed, 

He guides the ship again. 
One moment yet ! one moment yet ! 

Brave heart, thy task is o'er ! 



24 THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 

The pebbles grate beneath the keel, 

The steamer touches shore. 
Three hundred grateful voices rise 

In praise (o God, that He 
Hath saved them from the fearful fire, 

And from th' ingulfing sea. 
But where is he, that helmsman bold ? 

The captain saw him reel — 
His nerveless hands released their task, 

He sunk beside the wheel. 
The waves received his lifeless corpse, 

Blackened with smoke and fire. 
God rest him ! Hero never had 

A nobler funeral pyre ! 



TJIE BATTLE OF IVRY. 

Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are 1 
And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre I 
Now, let there be the merry sound of music and of dance. 
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines, oh, pleasant land 

of France ! 
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, 
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters. 
As thou wert constant in our ills, be jo5'Ous in our joy, 
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls annoy. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! a single field hath turned the chance of war. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Ivry, and King Henr\' of Navarre ! 
Oh, how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day, * 
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array ; 
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, 
And Appenzel's stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears. 
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of on.- land I 
And dark Mavenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand ; 



THE BATTLE OF IVRY. 25 

And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's unpurpled 

flood, 
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; 
And we cried unto the living Power who rules the fate of war, 
To fight for His own holy name, and Henry of Navarre ! 
The king is come to marshal us, all in his armor drest ; 
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. 
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye ; 
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. 
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing, 
Down all our line, a deafening shout, " Long live our lord the 

King ! " 
•' And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may — 
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray — 
Press where you see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of 

war — 
And be your orifiamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre." 
Hurrah ! the foes are moving ! Hark to the mingled din 
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin ! 
The fiery Duke is speeding fast across Saint Andre's plain, 
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. 
" Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, 
Charge — for the golden lilies now — upon them with the la- ce ! " 
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, 
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white 

crest ; 
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, 
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. 
Now, Heaven be praised, the day is ours ! Mayenne hath turned 

his rein, 
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter. The Flemish Count is slain. 
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; 
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds and flags and cloven 

mail. 
And then we thought of vengeance ; and all along our van 
** Remember St. Bartholomew ! " was passed from man to man; 
But out spoke gentle Henry, " No Frenchman is my foe ; 
Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go." 



26 THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 

Oh, was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war. 

As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! 

Ho ! maidens of Vienna I Ho ! matrons of Lucerne ! 

Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those who never shall return. 

Ho ! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles. 

That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's 

souls ! 
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ! 
Ho ! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night 1 
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the 

slave, 
And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valor of the brave. 
Then glory to His holy name, from whom all glories are ; 
And plory to our sovereign lord. King Henry of Navarre 

Macaulay. 



THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND, 

Oh, sacred Truth ! thy triumph ceased awhile, and 
Hope, thy sister, ceased with thee to smile, when 
leagued Oppression poured to Northern wars her 
whiskered pandours and her fierce hussars ; waved 
her dread standard to the breeze of morn, pealed her 
loud drum, and twanged her trumpet-horn ; tumultuous 
horror brooded o'er her van, presaging wrath to Po- 
land — and to man ! Warsaw's last champion from her 
heights surveyed, wide o'er the fields, a \vaste of ruin 
laid — " Oh, heaven ! " he cried, " my bleeding country 
save ! Is there no hand on high to shield the brave ? 
Yet though destruction sweep these lovely plains, rise, 
fellow-men ! our country yet remains ! By that dread 
name, we wave the sword on high — and swear, for her 
to live ! — with her to die ! " He said : and on the 



THE DOWNFALL OF POLAND. 2/ 

rampart heights arrayed his trusty warriors, few, but 
undismayed ! firm-paced and slow, a horrid front they 
form, still as the breeze, but dreadful as the storm ! 
Low, murmuring sounds along their banners fly — Re- 
venge or Death ! the watchword and reply ; then 
pealed the notes omnipotent to charm, and the loud 
tocsin tolled their last alarm ! 

In vain, alas ! in vain, ye gallant few, from rank to 
rank your volley'd thunder flew ! Oh, bloodiest pict- 
ure in the book of time, Sarmatia fell — unwept — with- 
out a crime ! found not a generous friend — a pitying 
foe — strength in her arms, nor mercy in her woe ! 
Dropped from her nerveless grasp the shattered spear 
— closed her bright eye, and curbed her high career ! 
Hope, for a season, bade the wjorld farewell, and Free- 
dom shrieked — as Kosciusko fell ! The . sun went 
down, nor ceased the carnage there ; tumultuous mur- 
der shook the midnight air — on Prague's proud arch 
the fires of ruin glow, his blood-dyed waters murmuring 
far below. The storm prevails ! the rampart yields 
away — bursts the wild cry of horror and dismay ! 
Hark ! as the smouldering piles with thunder fall, a 
thousand shrieks for hopeless mercy call ! Earth 
shook ! red meteors flashed along the sky ! and con- 
scious Nature shuddered at the cry ! 

Departed spirits of the mighty dead ! ye that at 
Marathon and Leuctra bled 1 Friends of the world ! 
restore your swords to man ; fight in his sacred cause, 
and lead the van ! Yet for Sarmatia's tears of blood 
atone, and make her arm puissant as your own ! Oh ! 
once again to Freedom's cause return the Patriot 
Tell — the Bruce of Bannockburn ! — Campbell. 



28 LOCHINVAR. 



LOCHINVAR. 

Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west ! 
Through all the wide border his steed was the best; 
And, save his good broadsword, he weapon had none ; 
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone ! 
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war. 
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar! 

He staid not for brake and he stopped not for stone, 

He swam the Esk river where ford there was none — 

But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate. 

The bride had consented ! — the gallant came late ! — 

For, a laggard in love and a dastard in war 

Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar I 

So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall, 
'Mong bride's-men, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all ; 
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword — 
For the poor, craven bridegroom said never a word — 
" Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war ? — 
Or to dance at our bridal ? — young Lord Lochinvar 1 " 

" I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied : 
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide! 
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine, 
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine ! — 
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far, 
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar! " 

The bride kissed the goblet ! The knight took it up, 
He quaffed off the wine and he threw down the cup I 
She looked down to blush and she looked up to sigh — 
With a smile on her lip and a tear in her eye. 
He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar — 
*' Now tread we a measure ! " said young Lochinvar. 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 29 

So stately his form, and so lovely her face, 

That never a hall such a galliard did grace ! 

While her mother did fret and her father did fume, 

And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume ; 

And the bride-maidens whispered, " 'Twere better by far 

To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar ! " 

One touch to her hand and one word in her ear. 

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near — 

So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung, 

So light to the saddle before her he sprung ! 

" She is won ! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur 1 

They'll have fleet steeds that follow ! " quoth young Lochinvar. 

There was mounting 'mong Grsemes of the Netherby clan : 

Fosters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran. 

There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea — 

But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. 

So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, 

Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar ? 

Sir Walter Scott. 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 

Yes ! I have served that noble chief throughout his proud career, 
And heard the bullets whistle past in lands both far and near — 
Amidst Italian flowers, below the dark pines of the North, 
Where'er the Emperor willed to pour his clouds of battle forth. 

'Twas then a splendid sight to see, though terrible, I ween, 
How his vast spirit filled and moved the wheels of the machine ; 
Wide sounding leagues of sentient steel, and fires that lived to 

kill, 
Were but the echo of his voice, the body of his will. 

But nc'v my heart is darkened with shadows that rise and fall 
Between the sunlight and the ground to sadden and appall: 



^O THE SPANISH MOTHER. 

The woeful things both seen and done we heeded little then, 
But they return, like ghosts, to shake the sleep of aged men. 

The German and the Englishman were each an open foe, 
And open hatred hurled us back from Russia's blinding snow ; 
Intenser far, in blood-red light, like fires unquenched, remain 
The dreadful deeds wrung forth by war from the brooding soul 
of Spain. 

I saw a village in the hills, as silent as a dream, 

Nought stirring but the summer sound of a merry mountain 
stream ; 

The evening star just smiled from heaven with its quiet silver eye, 

And the chestnut woods were still and calm beneath the deepen- 
ing sky. 

But in that place, self-sacrificed, nor man nor beast we found. 
Nor fig-tree on the sun-touched slope, nor corn upon the ground ; 
Each roofless hut was black with smoke, wrenched up each trail- 
ing vine. 
Each path was foul with mangled meat and floods of wasted wine- 

We had been marching, travel-worn, a long and burning way, 
And when such welcoming we met, after that toilsome day. 
The pulses in our maddened breasts were human hearts no more, 
But, like the spirit of a wolf, hot on the scent of gore. 

We lighted on one dying man, they slew him where he lay ; 

His wife, close-clinging, from the corpse they tore and wrenched 

away ; 
They thundered in her widowed ears, with frowns and curses grim, 
" Food, woman — food and wine, or else we tear thee limb from 
, limb." 

The woman, shaking off /lis blood, rose, raven-haired and tall, 
And our stern glances quailed before one sterner far than all. 
" Both food and wine," she said, " I have ; I meant them for the 

dead. 
But ye are living still, and so let them be yours instead." 



THE SPANISH MOTHER. 3 1 

The food was brought, the wine was brought out of a secret place, 
But each one paused aghast, and looked into his neighbor's face ; 
Her haughty step and settled brow, and chill, indifferent mien. 
Suited so strangely with the gloom and grimness of the scene. 

She glided here, she glided there, before our wondering eyes, 
Nor anger showed, nor shame, nor fear, nor sorrow, nor surprise ; 
At every step, from soul to soul a nameless borrow ran, 
And made us pale and silent as that silent murdered man. 

She sat, and calmly soothed her child into a slumber sweet; 
Calmly the bright blood on the floor crawled red around our feet. 
On placid fruits and bread lay soft the shadows of the win. , 
And we like marble statues glared — a chill, unmoving line, 

All white, all cold ; and moments thus flew by without a breath, 
A company of living things where all was still — but death ; 
My hair rose up from roots of ice as there unnerved I stood 
And watched the only thing that stirred — the rippling of the 
blood. 

That woman's voice was heard at length, it broke the solemn 

spell, 
And humaniear, displacing all, upon our spirits fell — 
"• Ho i slayers of the sinewless ! Ho ! tramplers of the weak I 
What ! shrink ye from the ghastly meats and life-bought wine ye 

seek ? 

Feed and begone ! I wish to weep — I bring you out my store — 
Devour it — waste it all — and then — pass and be seen no more. 
Poison \ Is that your craven fear ? " She snatched a goblet up 
And raised it to her queen-like head, as if to drain the cup. 

But our fierce leader grasped her wrist — " No, woman ! No ! " he 

said, 
*' A mother's heart of love is deep — give it your child instead." 
She only smiled a bitter smile — " Frenchmen, I do not shrink — 
As pledge of my fidelity, behold the infant drink I " 

He fixed on hers his broad black eye, scanning the inmost soul ; 
But her chill fingers trembled not as she returned the bowl. 



32 THE SPANISH MOTHER. 

And we with lightsome hardihood, dismissing idle care, 
Sat down to eat and drink and laugh over our dainty fare. 

The laugh was loud around the board, the jesting wild and light; 
But /was fevered with the march, and drank no wine that night ; 
I just had filled a single cup, when through my very brain 
Stung, sharper than a serpent's tooth, an infant's C17 of pain. 

Through all that heat of revelry, through all that boisterous cheer. 
To every heart its feeble moan pierced, like a frozen spear, 
" Aye," shrieked the woman, darting up, " I pray you trust again 
A widow's hospitality in our unyielding Spain. ' 

Helpless and hopeless, by the light of God Himself I swore 
To treat you as you treated Jmn — that body on the floor. 
Yon secret place I filled, to feel, that if ye did not spare, 
The treasure of a dread revenge was ready hidden there. 

A mother's love is deep, no doubt ; ye did not phrase it ill. 

But in your hunger ye forgot that hate is deeper still. 

The Spanish woman speaks for Spain ; for her butchered love, 

the wife. 
To tell you that an hour is all viy vintage leaves of life." 

I cannot paint the many forms of wild despair put on, 
Nor count the crowded brave who sleep under a single stone ; 
I can but tell you how, before that horrid hour went by, 
I saw the murderess beneath the self-avengers die. 

But though upon her wrenched limbs they leap'd like beasts of 

prey. 
And with fierce hands like madmen tore the quivering life away — 
Triumphant hate and joyous scorn, without a trace of pain, 
Burned to the last, like sullen stars, in that haughty eye of Spain. 

.\nd often now it breaks my rest, the tumult vague and wild, 
Drifting, like storm-tossed clouds, around the mother and her 

child- 
While she, distinct in raiments white, stands silently the while, 
And sheds through torn and bleeding hair the same unchanging 

smile. 

Sir Francis I/astirc's Doyle. 



THE MAIN TRUCK ; OR, A LEAP FOR LIFE. 33 



THE MAIN TRUCK; OR, A LEAP FOR 
LIFE. 

Old Ironsides at anchor lay. 

In the harbor of Mahon ; 
A dead calm rested on the bay — 

The waves to sleep had gone ; 
When little Hal, the captain's son, 

A lad both brave and good. 
In sport, up shroud and rigging ran, 

And on the main truck stood ! 

A shudder shot through every vein ; 

All e3^es were turned on high ! 
There stood the boy, with dizzy brain, 

Between the sea and sky. 
No hold had he above, below; 

Alone he stood in air. 
To that far height none dared to go — 

No aid could reach him there. 

We gazed, but not a man could speak ! 

With horror all aghast — 
In groups, with pallid brow and cheek, 

We watched the quivering mast. 
The atmosphere grew thick and hot, 

And of a lurid hue \ 
As, riveted unto the spot. 

Stood officers and crew. 

The father came on deck. He gasped, 

" O God \ Thy will be done ! " 
Then suddenly a rifle grasped, 

And aimed it at his son. 
" Jump, far out, boy, into the wave 1 

Jump, or I fire," he said. 
" That on]y chance your life can save ; 

Jump, jump, boy \ " He obeyed. 



34 'I'HE SERGEANT S STORY. 

He sunk — he rose — he lived — he moved, 

And for the ship struck out, 
On board we hailed the lad beloved 

With many a manly shout. 
His father drew, in silent joy, 

Those wet arms round his neck, 
And folded to his heart his boy — 

Then famted on the deck, 

Walter Colton. 



THE SERGEANT S STORY OF THE LIGHT 
BRIGADE. 

A GRAPHIC DESCRIPTION OF THE CHARGE BY A SUR- 
VIVOR. 

A SURVIVOR of the celebrated ride into the jaws of 
death gives, in the Boston Commercial Bulletin, the fol- 
lowing graphic picture of the charge : 

" Lord Cardigan's eye glanced us over ; then spurring 
his horse forward a few paces, he said : 

" ' My men, we have received orders to silence that 
battery.' 

" ' My G — d ! ' my brother ejaculated. Then grasp- 
ing my hand, he said : 

"'Fred, my dear fellow, good by; we don't know 
what may happen. God bless you ; keep close to 
me — ' 

" What more he might of said was lost in Lord Car- 
digan's ringing shout of : 

" ' Charge ! ' 



THE sergeant's STORY. 35 

" INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH. 

" We went in at a trot ; the trot changed to a canter, 
and the canter into a gallop. Through the lines I 
could see Lord Cardigan several horse-lengths ahead 
riding as steadily as if he was on parade. Now, to 
tell the plain truth, when we had ridden a short dis- 
tance, say one, hundred paces, I felt terribly afraid. 
The truth flashed upon me in a moment that we were 
riding into a position that would expose us to a fire on 
both flanks, as well as the fire from the battery in front 
of us, which we had been instructed to silence. I said 
to myself, ' This is a ride to death ! ' but I said it loud 
enough for my brother to hear, and he answered and 
said : 

" ' There goes the first ! ' 

" The first was Lord Lucan's aid-de-camp, Captain 
Nolan, who, after making a slight detour, was crossing 
our left to join us in the charge. A cannon-ball had 
just cut him in two as my brother spoke. 

" My heart leaped into my mouth and I almost 
shrieked with fear, but I restrained myself, and setting 
my teeth hard I rode on. A moment later the rifle 
bullets from the sharpshooters on the hillside began to 
whistle about our ears. Saddles were empted at every 
step. Then came the whistling shot and the shrieking 
shell and tore through our squadrons, mangling men 
and horses, plowing bloody furrows through and 
through our ranks. Then my fear left me. My whole 
soul became filled with a thirst for revenge, and I be- 
lieve the same spirit animated every man in the ranks. 
Their eyes flashed, and they ground their teeth and 



36 THE sergeant's story. 

pressed closer together. The very' horses caught the 
mad spirit, and plunged forward as if impatient to lead 
us to our revenge and theirs. At this time there was 
not much to be seen. A heavy dense smoke hung over 
the valley, but the flaming mouths of the guns revealed 
themselves to our eyes at every moment as they 
belched forth their murderous contents of shot and 
shell. 

" Now a shot tore through our ranks, cutting a red 
line from flank to flank, then a shell plowed an oblique 
and bloody furrow from our right front to our left rear ; 
anon a ricochetting shot rose over our front ranks, fell 
into our centre, and hewed its way to the rear making 
terrible havoc in its passage. Oh ! that was a ride. 
Horses ran riderless, and men bareheaded, and 
splashed with the blood of their comrades pressed 
closer and closer and ground their teeth harder, and 
mentally swore a deadlier revenge as their numbers 
grew smaller. 

'* INTO THE GATES OF HELL. 

"Alone and in front rode Cardigan still keeping the 
same distance ahead. His charger was headed for the 
centre ot the battery. Silently we followed him. Up 
to this time neither my brother nor myself had received 
the slightest scratch, although we were now riding side 
by side with comrades who at the start were separated 
from us by several files. We reached the battery at 
last. Up to this time we had ridden in silence, but 
what a yell burst from us as we plunged in among the 
Russian gunners. Well would it have been for them 



THE SERGEANT S STORY. 3/ 

if they had killed us all before we reached them. They 
had done too little and too much. They had set us on 
fire with passion. Only blood could quench our thirst 
for revenge. We passed through the battery like a 
whirlwind sabring the gunners on our passage. I 
don't believe one of them live to tell the tale of that 
ride. Out of the battery and into the brigade — an 
army it was — of cavalry. Our charge was resistless. 

" The Russians fell before our sabres as corn falls 
before the reaper. They seemed to have no power of 
resistance. And there was no lack of material to work 
upon. They closed in upon us and surrounded us on 
every side, but we hewed our way through them as men 
hew through a virgin forest, and only stopped when we 
reached the bank of the Tehernaya River. 

" Wheeling here, we proceeded to cut our way back 
again. On the return ride I was assailed by a gigantic 
Russian trooper who made a strike at me with his 
sabre. I partially guarded it, but not wholly, and the 
n^xt moment felt a stinging pain in my neck. It 
passed in a moment, however, and I was about to make 
short work of the trooper, when I heard my brother cry : 

" ' Ah ! you would, would you ? ' and the Russian 
fell cleft to the chin. 

" We cut our way through and once more entered the 
fatal valley. When half way back to our starting point 
a cannon shot struck my brother and beheaded him. 
Tom, ah, thank you ! " 

The color-sergeant drai-ned another glass. 

" When we formed up on arriving at our starting 
point, Lord Cardigan, with the tears streaming from 
his eyes, said : 



38 o'murtogh. 

" ' It was not my fault, my men.' 

" And the men replied with one voice : 

" ' We are ready to go in again, my lord, if you will 
lead us.' 

" Just then I became dizzy. My scalp had been 
lifted by the stroke of the Russian's sabre, the skin of 
my cheek cleft across to my upper lip, and I fainted 
from loss of blood. 

" When my time expired in the cavalry I re-enlisted 
in this regiment. I am always proud to hear myself 
called one of the six hundred, but — poor Jack ! fill that 
glass again, Tom." 

Thus ended the sergeant's story of the famous 
charge. — Anon, 



aMURTOGH. 

To-night we drink but a sorrowful cup — 
Hush ! Silence ! and fill your glasses up. 

Christ be with us ! Hold out and say : 
" Here's to the Boy that died this day ! " 

Wasn't he bold as the boldest here .'' 
Red coat or black did he ever fear ? 

With the bite and the drop, too, ever free ! 
He died like a man — I was there to see ! 

The gallows was black, our cheeks were white, 
All underneath in the morning light ; 

The bell ceased tolling swift as thought, 
And out the murdered Boy was brought. 

There he stood in the daylight dim, 
With a priest on either side of him ; 



O MURTOGH. 39 

Each priest look'd white as he held his book, 
But the man between had a brighter look ! 

Over the faces below his feet 

His gray eye gleam'd so keen and fleet : 
He saw us looking ; he smiled his last — 

He couldn't wave, he was pinioned fast. 

This was more than one could bear, 

For the wench who loved him was with us there ; 
She stood in the rain with her dripping shawl 

Over her head, for to see it all. 

But when she met the Boy's last look. 

Her lips went white, she turned and shook; 

She didn't scream, she didn't groan. 
But down she dropt as dead as stone. 

He saw the stir in the crowd beneath. 

And I saw him tremble and set his teeth ; 
But the hangman came with a knavish grace. 

And drew the nightcap over his face. 

Then I saw the priests, who still stood near, 

Pray faster and faster to hide their fear ; 
They closed their eyes, I closed mine too, 

And the deed was over before I knew. 

The crowd that stood all round of me 

Gave one dark plunge like a troubled sea ; 

And I knew by that the deed was done. 
And I opened my eyes and saw the sun. 

The gallows was black, the sun was white, 

There he hung, half hid from sight ; 
The sport was over, the talk grew loud, 

And they sold their wares to the mighty crowd. 

We walked away with our hearts full sore, 

And we met a hawker before a door. 
With a string of papers an arm's-length long, 

A dying speech and a gallows song. 



/,0 O MURTOGH. 

It bade all people of poor estate 

Beware of O'Murtogh's evil fate ; 
It told how in old Ireland's name 

He had done red murther and come to shame. 

Never a word was sung or said 
Of the murdered mother, a ditch her bed; 

Who died with her new-born babe that night. 
While the blessed cabin was burning bright. 

Nought was said of the years of pain ; 

The starving stomach, the dizzs- brain : 
The years of sorrow, and want and toil, 

And the murdering rent for the bit of soil- 
Nothing was said of the murther don-e. 

On man and woman, and little one ; 
Of the bitter sorrow and daily smart. 

Till he put cold lead in the factor's heart. 

But many a word had the speech beside : 

How he repented before he died ; 
How, brought to sense by the sad event, 

He prayed for the Queen and the Parliament I 

What did we do, and mighty quick, 

But tickle the haAvker's brains with a stick; 

And to pieces small we tore his flam, 
And left him quiet as any lamb ! 

Pass round your glasses ! Now lift them up ! 

Powers above ! tis a bitter cup ! 
Christ be with us ! Hold out and say, 

" Here's to the Boy that died this day 1 " 

Here's his health ! — for bold he died ; 

Here's his health ! — and it's drunk in pride. 
The finest sight beneath the sky 

Is to see how bravely a Man can die. 

Robert Buchanan. 



THE FIREMAN. 



THE FIREMAN. 

The city slumbers. O'er its mighty walls 
Night's dusky mantle soft and silent falls ; 
Sleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead, 
And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. 
Stilled is the stir of labor and of life , 
Hushed is the hum, and tranquillized the strife. 
Man is at rest, with ail his hopes and fears ; 
The young forget their sports, the old their cares ; 
The grave are careless ; those who joy or weep 
All rest contented on the arm of sleep. 

Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, 
And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow ! 
Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide, 
Her heart's own partner wandering by her side ; 
'Tis summer's eve ; the soft gales scarcely rouse 
The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs ; 
And, faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone 
Breathes to her heart a music like its own. 

When, hark ! Oh, horror ! what a crash is there ! 
What shriek is that which fills the midnight air.^ 
'Tis fire ! 'tis fire ! She wakes to dream no more. 
The hot blast rushes through the blazing door ; 
The dun smoke eddies round , and, hark ! that cry ; 
" Help ! help ! Will no one aid ? 1 die, I die ! " 
She seeks the casement ; shuddering at its height 
She turns again ; the fierce flames mock her flight ; 
Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play, 
And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. 
" Help ! help ! Will no one come ? " She can no more, 
But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor. 

Will no one save thee ? Yes, there yet is one 
Remains to save, when hope itself is gone; 



42 THE SEVENTH FUSILEERS. 

When all have fled, when all but he would fly, 
The fireman comes, to rescue or to die. 
He mounts the stair — it wavers 'neath his tread ; 
He seeks the room, flames flashing round his head ; 
He bursts the door ; he lifts her prostrate frame. 
And turns again to brave the raging flame. 
The fircrblast smites him with its stifling breath ; 
The falling timbers menace him with death ; 
The sinking floors his hurried step betray. 
And ruin crashes round his desperate way ; 
Hot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders rise, 
Yet still he staggers forward with his prize , 
He leaps from burning stair to stair. On ! on ! 
Courage ! One effort more, and all is won ! 
The stair is passed — the blazing hall is braved ; 
Still on ! yet on ! once more ! Thank Heaven, she's saved! 

Robert T. Conrad. 



THE SE VENTH FUSILEERS. 

On the extreme left of Codington's brigade, at the 
battle of the Alma, were posted the Seventh Fusileers. 
The commander of this reghnent was a man of onward, 
fiery temper, named Lacy Yea. This Lacy Yea was so 
rough an enforcer of discipline, that he had never 
been much liked by those who had to obey him ; but 
when once the Seventh Fusileers were in campaign, 
and, still more, when they came to be engaged with the 
enemy, they found that their Colonel was a man who 
could and would seize for his regiment such chances of 
welfare and of glory as might come with the fortunes of 
war ; and not many months were over before they 
learned that, though other regiments might be dying of 



thp: seventh fusileers. 43 

want, yet, by force of their Colonel's strong will, there 
was food and warmth for the Seventh Fusileers. 

On the morning of the battle there suddenly rose up 
a murmur which, coming from men of Teuton blood, 
was the advent of a new and seemingly extrinsic power. 
From the left of the line to the first company of the 
Seventh Fusileers, the deep, angry, gathering sound was: 
" Forward ! Forward ! Forward ! " And the English, 
springing up the hill-side, halted upon the summit. 

Lacy Yea and his men had scarcely taken up their 
position when the great Valdemir column, detaching it- 
self from the corps of the Grand Duke Michael, began to 
move slowly down upon the English line. Before it 
confuses itself by hasty firing, a Russian column, in 
good order, is a solemn expression of warlike strength. 
With the hard, upright outline of a wall, it is, in its 
color, a dark cloud ; and the lowly beings who compose 
it are so merged in the grand unity of the mass, that, in 
the hour of battle, the aspect of it weighs heavy upon 
the imagination of anxious men. More, a hundred fold 
more than it is, it seems to portend. 

Suddenly the Valdemir column halted, and delivered 
a fire that threw the line of the regiment into confusion. 
Lacy Yea knew that his men, in order to fight, must 
keep in line ; and what man could do he did. His very 
shoulders so labored and strove, with the might of his 
desire, to form the line, that the curt, red shell jacket 
he wore was as though it were a world too scant for the 
strength of the man and the passion that raged within 
him. But when he turned, his dark eyes yielded fire ; 
and all the while, from his deep-chiselled, merciless lips, 
there pealed the thunder of imprecation and command. 



44 JOHN BARTHOLOMEW'S RIDE. 

Wherever the men had become clustered together, 
there, fiercely coming, he wedged his way into the thick 
of the crowd, and by force of will tore it asunder and 
formed it into line. 

Presently the fire of the Fusileers began to injure 
the symmetry of the spruce Russian column. Lacy 
\ea observed that every now and then, when a part of 
the column was becoming faulty, a certain man, of vast 
towering stature, would stride quickly up to the defect- 
ive spot, and exert so great an ascendency that order 
was always restored ; that this man was to the Russian 
column, what the Colonel was to the Seventh : and it 
was not, I think, without a sort of sympathy for him that 
Lacy Yea ordered his soldiers to shoot the tall man. 
He was obeyed. Instantly the straight, rigid Russian 
ranks became bent and wavy ; then the mass became 
fluid, and the outlines of what had been like a wall be- 
came like the outlines of a cloud. First some, then 
more, then all turned about. Moving slowly, and as 
discontented with its fate, the Valdemir column began 
to retreat. Lacy Yea and his Seventh Fusileers had 
won the day. — Kinglake. 



JOHN BARTHOLOMEW'S RIDE, 

A California Incident. 

T arn't very much "on the fancy," 

And all sich sort of stuff — 
For an engineer on a railroad 

Is more apt " to be on the rough ; " 



JOHN BARTHOLOMEW S RIDE. 45 

He don't " go much " on " his handsome," 

I'm free to " acknowledge the corn ; " 
But he has to " get up " on his " wide-awake," 

" That's just as sure's you're born." 

Now, I'll tell you a little story 

'Bout " a run " we made for our necks. 
When we thought " Old Gabe " had called us 

To ante up our checks. 
We came round the curve by the tunnel, 

Just beyond the American Flat — 
When my fireman sings out, *' Johnny ! 

Look ahead ! my God, what's that ? " 

You bet ! I warn't long in sightin'; — 

There was plenty for me to see. 
With that train full of kids and wimmen, 

And their lives all hangin' on me — 
For the tunnel was roarin' and blazin', 

All ragin' with fire and smoke. 
And " Number Six " close behind us— 

Quick, sonny ! shove in the coke 1 

" Whistle down-breaks," I first thought- 
Then thinks I, " Old boy," twon't do — 

And with hand on" throttle" and " lever,'' 
I knew I must *' roll 'em through " — 

Through the grim mouth of the tunnel — 
Through smoke and flame as well 

Right into the "gateway of death," boys 
Right smack through " the jaws of hell." 

The staunch " Old Gal " felt the pressure 

Of steam through her iron joints — 
She acted just like she was human 

Just like she knew " all the points ; " 
She glinted along the tramway 

With speed of a lightning flash 
With a howl assuring us safety, 

Regardless of wreck or crash. 



46 BILL gibb()n\s deliverance. 

Now, I s'pose I might have jumped the train, 

In hope to save sinew and bone 
And left them wimmen and children 

To take that ride alone, 
But I thought cf a day of reck'nin' 

And whatever " Old John's " done here, 
No Lord ain't goin' to say to him then, 

" You went back as an engineer ! " 

G. H. Jennings . 



BILL GIBBON S DELIVERANCE. 

Never heerd telLof o' Bill Gibbon ? 

Why, yer've kinder bin out of existence ! 
I don't believe some on you'd think, 

If it warn't for a little assistance. 

I aint " over smart " — not myself ? 

Well, you said I was — what's it matter ! 
To know Bill was, I guess, kinder cute, 

So let's have no more o' that chatter. 

What did he do? Well— I'm darn'd ! 

If yer won't, pretty soon, raise my dander ! 
For yer ought to know Bill just as well 

As the geese on a pond knows the gander ! 

Wall, there ! yer needn't get riled ! 

Smooth your feathers back, steady, I'll tell, mates- 
Tell yer one of his feats in the woods, 

A braver deed never befell, mates ! 

In Wisconsin's big forests, one day, 

We was makin' a clearin' in fall time ; 
And the thing as Bill Gibbon done then 

I, for one, shall remember for all time. 



\ 



BILL gibbon's deliverance. 4/ 

A broad-shoulder'd coon was old Bill, 

With a will, like his muscles, of iron ; 
He'd a tackled a buffalo bull. 

And at choppin' — well, warn't he a spry 'un I 

It was choppin' as brought it about, boys, 

For Bill had begun on a whopper, 
A two-hundred foot mighty pine, 

As was doom'd to sure death by his chopper 1 

We'd all on us stopp'd, — work was done ; 

He'd finish, " dog-gorn'd, if he wouldn't ! " 
An' we quit him, all full of our chaff. 

An' laughin' and sayin' he couldn't ! 

He buried his axe in the tree ; 

We set off for our cabin, us others ; 
" I'll kill him afore eight ! " he cries, 

" Him and p'raps one or two of his brothers ! " 

On the floor of his hut " afore eight " 

He lay, and he told us all, gasping. 
How it happ'd — his voice broken and hoarse, 

His rough, big brown hand my own grasping. 

Fast and strong fell his strokes on the tree 

It sway'd, an' it creak'd, an' it quiver'd 
It toppled, it fell ! — then says he 

As he spoke, why we all on us shiver'd.— 

" I struck the last blow with such force 

That the tree in a second was timber, 
And I fell to the earth just as stiff 

As the minute before I'd been limber. 

" Swoop upon me the giant tree crash'd ! 

Fiercely fell on my right leg and broke it! 
An' it seemed to shriek out for revenge — 

Revenge ! just as if it had spoke it. 



48 BILL gi*bbon's deliverance. 

" Help ! I cried, but a long hour had gone 

Since I'd seen you boys homewards all file off, 

And a bugle's voice wouldn't bin heard 
In them thick woods and bushes a mile off. 

" I couldn't lie there all the night, 
So I made up my mind in a second — 

I know'd as the leg must come off, 
So, to do it myself best, I reckon'd. 

" One stroke ! — what was left of the leg 

Was freed from the tree and its branches 1 " 

And what poor Bill Gibbon then said. 

Why, the thought of it now my cheek blanches. 

My heart knocks aloud at my ribs. 

Though I aint in the leastways white-liver'd, 

When I think what he did on that night, — 
By his right hand how he was deliver'd ! 

He tried. With a pluck all his own. 
To crawl, inch by inch, to his cabin; 

Though each move as he made on the road 
Was, we'd most on us think, just like stabbin'. 

When he found as he couldn't get on, 
Because his two legs wasn't equal, 

A bold thought comes into his head, 
As you'll see when I tell you the sequel. 

A word and a blow 'twas with Bill — 

He'd act on a thought soon as catch it — 

His right leg was off, his axe gleam'd. 
And he cut off his left leg to match it. 

He sturdily stump'd to his hut, 

A glass of hot rum quick we mixes ; 

Overcome, there's not one of us speaks 
As his torn limbs we splices and fixes I 



THE RIDE OF JENNIE M'NEAL. 49 

•' A stout constitooshun ! " Well, yes ! 
A hero, too, birth, bone and breeding, — 
What's that you say, you out there, 

How he did fur to stop all the bleeding? 

Oh, didn't I mention — that's odd ! — 
'Bout them limbs as was torn into ribbons ? 

Wal, yer see, didn't matter to him, 
They was wooden legs, mates, was Bill Gibbon's!" 

Arthur Matthison. 



THE RIDE OF JENNIE MNEAL, 

Paul Revere was a rider bold — 
Well has his valorous deed been told ; 
Sheridan's ride was a glorious one — 
Often it has been dwelt upon. 
But why should men do all the deeds 
On which the love of a patriot feeds ? 
Hearken to me, while I reveal 
The dashing ride of Jennie M'Neal : 

On a spot as pretty as might be found 

In the dangerous length of the Neutral Ground, 

In a cottage, cosy, and all their own. 

She and her mother lived alone. 

Safe were the two, with their frugal store, 

From all of the many who passed their door ; 

For Jennie's mother was strange to fears, 

And Jennie v/as large for fifteen years ; 

And while the friends who knew her well 

The sweetness of her heart could tell, 

A gun that hung on the kitchen wall 

Looked solemnly quick to heed her call ; 

And they who were evil-minded knew 

Her nerve was strong, and her aim was true. 

4 



50 THE RIDE OF JENNIE M NEAL- 

So all kind words and acts did deal 
To generous, black-eyed Jennie M'Neal. 

One night, when the sun had crept to bed, 
And rain-clouds lingered overhead, 
Close after a knock at the outer door. 
There entered a dozen dragoons or more 
Their red coats, stained by the muddy road. 
That they were British soldiers showed ; 
The captain his hostess bent to greet, 
Saying : " Madam, please give us a bit to cat; 
We will pay you well, and, if may be, 
This bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea : 
Then we must dash ten miles ahead, 
To catch a rebel colonel abed. 
Ile visited home, as doth appear ; 
We will make his pleasure cost him dear." 
And they fell on the hasty supper with zeal. 
Close-watched the while by Jennie M'Neal. 

For the gray-haired colonel they hovered near 
Had been her true friend, kind and dear ; 
And oft, in her younger days, had he 
Right proudly perched her upon his knee, 
And told her stories, many a one, 
Concerning the French war, lately done- 
She had hunted by his fatherly side. 
He had sho\%Ti her how to fence and ride -, 
And once had said : '* The time may be, 
Your skill and courage may stand by me."' 
So sorrow for him she could but feel. 
Brave, grateful-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

With never a thought or a moment more, 
Bare-headed she slipped from the cottage door. 
Ran out where the horses were left to feed, 
Unhitched and mounted the captain's steed. 
And down the hilly and rock-strewn way 
She urged the fiery horse of gray. 



THE RIDE OF JENNIE M NEAL. 5 1 

Around her slender and cloakless form 
Pattered and moaned the ceaseless storm ; 
Secure and tight, a gloveless hand 
Grasps the reins with stern command ; 
And full and black her long hair streamed, 
Whenever the ragged lightning gleamed. 
And on she rushed for the colonel's weal, 
Brave, lioness-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

Hark ! from the hills, a moment mute. 
Came a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit ; 
And a cry from the foremost trooper said : 
*' Halt ! or your blood be on your head ! " 
She heeded it not, and not in vain 
She lashed the hoi'se with the bridle-rein. 
So into the night the gray horse strode ; 
His shoes hewed fire from the rocky road ; 
And the high-born courage that never dies 
Flashed from his rider's coal-black eyes. 
The pebbles flew from the fearful race. 
The rain-drops grasped at her glowing face. 
" On, on, brave beast ! " with loud appeal, 
Cried eager, resolute Jennie M'Neal. 

" Halt !" once more came the voice of dread; 

" Halt ! or your blood be on your head I " 

Then, no one answering to the calls, 

Sped after her a volley of balls. 

They passed her in her rapid flight. 

They screamed to her left, they screamed to her right ; 

But, rushing still o'er the slippery track, 

She sent no token of answer back. 

Except a silvery laughter-peal, 

Brave, merry-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

So on she rushed, at her own good will, 
Through wood and valley, o'er plain and hill ; 
The gray horse did his duty well. 
Till all at once he stumbled and fell, 



52 THE RIDE OF JENNIE M NEAL. 

Himself escaping the nets of harm, 
Eut flinging the girl with a broken arm. 
Still, undismayed by the numbing pain, 
She clung to the horse's bridle-rein, 
And gently bidding him to stand, 
Petted him with her able hand ; 
Then sprung again to the saddle-bow 
And shouted : " One more trial now ! " 
As if ashamed of the heedless fall, 
He gathered his strength once more for all, 
And galloping down a hill-side steep, 
Gained on the troopers at every leap ; 
No more the high-bred steed did reel, 
But ran his best for Jennie M'Neal. 

They were a furlong behind, or more, 
When the girl burst through the colonel's door, 
Her poor arm helpless, hanging with pain. 
And she all drabbled and drenched with rain. 
But her cheeks as red as firebrands are. 
And her eyes as bright as a blazing star, 
And shouted ; " Quick ! be quick, I say ; 
They come ! they come ! Away ! away ! " 
Then sunk on the rude white floor of deal. 
Poor, brave, exhausted Jennie M'Neal. 

The startled colonel sprung, and pressed 

The wife and children to his breast. 

And turned away from his fireside bright, 

And glided into the stormy night ; 

Then soon and safely made his way 

To where the patriot army lay ; 

But first he bent in the dim firelight, 

And kissed the forehead broad and white, 

And blessed the girl who had ridden so well. 

To keep him out of a prison-cell. 

The girl roused up at the martial din, 

Just as the troopers came rushing in. 



THE LAST REDOUBT, 53 

And laughed, e'en in the midst of a moan, 
Saying, " Good sirs, your bird has flown. 
'Tis I who have scared him from his nest ; 
So deal with me now as you thinlc best." 
But the grand young captain bowed, and said : 
" Never you hold a moment's dread. 
Of womankind I must crown you queen ; 
So brave a girl I have never seen. 
Wear this gold ring as your valor's due, 
And when peace comes I will come for you." 
But Jennie's face an arch smile wore. 
As she said : " There's a lad in Putnam's corps, 
Who told me the same, long time ago ; 
You two would never agree, I know, 
I promised my love to be true as steel," 
Said good, sure-hearted Jennie M'Neal. 

mil Carhtoiu 



THE LAST REDOUBT. 

Kacelyevo's slope still felt 

The cannons' bolts and the rifles pelt; 

For the last redoubt up the hill remained. 

By the Russ yet held, by the Turk not gained 

Mehemet Ali stroked his beard ; 
His lips were clinched and his look was weird j 
Round him were ranks of his ragged folk. 
Their faces blackened with blood and smoke. 

" Clear me the Muscovite out ! " he cried. 

Then the name of " Allah ! " echoed wide. 

And the fezzes were waved and the bayonets lowered, 

And on to the last redoubt they poured. 

One fell, and a second quickly stopped 

The gap that he left when he reeled and dropped ; • 



54 THE LAST REDOUBT. 

The second — a third straight filled his place ; 
The third — and a fourth kept up the race. 

Many a fez in the mud was crushed, 
Many a throat that cheered was hushed, 
Many a heart that sought the crest 
Found Allah's arms and an houri's breast. 

Over their corpses the living sprang, 
And the ridge with their musket-rattle rang, 
Till the faces that lined the last redoubt 
Could see their faces and hear their shout. 

In the redoubt a fair form towered, 

That cheered up the brave and chid the coward; 

Brandishing blade with a gallant air, 

His head erect and his bosom bare. 

" Fly ! they are on us ! " his men implored, 
But he waved them on with his waving sword. 
" It cannot be held ; 'tis no shame to go ! " 
But he stood with his face set hard to the foe. 

Then clung they about him, and tugged, and knelt. 
He drew a pistol from out his belt, 
And fired it blank at the first that set 
Foot on the edge of the parapet. 

Over, that first one toppled ; but on 

Clambered the rest till their bayonets shone, 

As hurriedly fled his men dismJiyed, 

Not a bayonet's length from the length of his blade. 

" Yield ! " but aloft his steel he flashed. 
And down on their steel it ringing clashed ; 
Then back he reeled with a bFadeless hilt, 
His honor full, but his life-blood spilt. 

They lifted him up from the dabbled ground ; 
His limbs were shapely, and soft, and round. 
No down on his lip, on his cheek no shade — 
" Bismillah ! " they cried ; " 'tis an Infidel maid I " 



i 



THE LEAGUER OF LUCKNOW. 55 

Mehemet Ali came and saw 
The riddled breast and the tender jaw. 
" Make her a bier of your arms," he said. 
" And daintily bury this dainty dead ! 

Make her a grave where she stood and fell, 
'Gainst the jackal's scratch and the vulture's smell. 
Did the Muscovite men like their maidens fight, 
In their lines we had scarcely supped to-night." 

So a deeper trench 'mong the trenches there 
Was dug for the form as brave as fair ; 
And none, till the Judgment trump and shout, 
Shall drive her out of the Last Redoubt. 

Alfred Austin. 



THE LEAGUER OF LUCKNOW. 

With the few whom fate of battle left and pestilence had spared, 

To Lucknow's shattered fortalice the Brigadier repaired. 

No bugle sounded cheerily, no drum beat the chamade, 

But like a funeral cortege were those wearied files arrayed. 

A cloud rests on each sun-burnt brow, gloom lowers in every eye» 

But each heart is honor's goblet, and with valor brimming high. 

" Soldiers ! your courage must not droop, your manly spirits 

wane ; 
The stoutest bark afloat may drive before the hurricane ; 
Reverses are true manhood's test ! " thus spoke in accents clear, 
To his scant but brave associates, the undaunted Brigadier. 
" I charge you by the mercy that ye hope to win above. 
And by the distant homes where dwell the mothers that ye love, 
By the sisters 3-e would shelter from dishonor's blighting touch. 
On peril of your souls, guard sacred from pollution's touch 
Yon true devoted heroines ! As ye are men this day ! 
By the manes of the brave who died in this accursed fray. 
And by the far-off green churchyards wherein your fathers rest ; 
And that home-love, which but with life forsakes the wanderer's 

breast, 



56 THE LEAGUER OF LUCKNOW. 

And by the Queen whose throne ye guard, whose fame ye hold so 
dear, 

Protect them whilst a man remains ! " cried the stout old Briga- 
dier. 

'' Enough for human feeling. Now for sterner work, my sons I 

To your posts, and ply your rifles ! lay the mortars ! serve the 
guns ! 

Though our foes for leagues extended, like unnumbered locusts 
lie, 

And ye have barely space to fight — there's room enough to die ! 

But let no shot be wasted ; every ball must find its man ! 

When yon recreant caitiff rebels, traitor-hounds of Hindostan, 

All remorseless as the tiger from his sweltering jungle-fen. 

Rush from, under their defenses, let there be no wavering then 1 " 

Now shook the earth, now; shakes the sky, and blackness palls the 
sun. 

And lightning-flames stream glaring out from many a well-laid 
gun; 

And now the mine's volcano bursts its dark concealment sheer, 

And rock'd and sway'd the ramparts round the stout old Briga- 
dier. 

As upward on the tortured air the scathing meteors gush. 

Ten thousand sable mutineers from tower and temple rush ; 

On, on they come ! and the lava flame is their fitting ambuscade ; 

But 'tis on to doom ! and that fiery gloom is Fate's beseeming 
shade. 

The red flames slack, the smoke rolls back— the swarthy bands 
appear, 

And a hail-storm falls from the leaguered walls, and strikes them, 
down like deer. 

All day, as 'twere a brazen vault, the sky seems molten red. 

And scarred and black the scorching soil reels underneath their 
tread ; 

Yet own those noble hearts so tried no thought of yielding fear ; 

" Bravo I well done, bold comrades ! " cries the stout old Briga- 
adicr. 

Ladies of England's castle halls, fair as the dcAV-gemmed flowers 

That deck in fragile loveliness your safely-guarded bowers, 



THE LEAGUER OF LUCKNOW. $y 

Bright-eyed maids of Ireland's valleys, loving-hearted as you're 

fair, 
Ask ye why those nameless heroes fought and bled and perished 

there ? 
Daughters of Scotland's cottage homes, sweet as the spring-day 

morn, 
Ye sunbright joys to manly hearts that sorrow else had torn. 
Needs there to you repeat the tale of blood and lurid shame ? 
Or needs there ask from you the meed of honor and of fame 
For heroes whose keen weapons knew neither ruth nor rest, 
Till every point was bent or broken in a murderer's breast ? 
A sacred zeal inspires each heart for vengeance, sharp and dire 
As Retribution's angel ever flung from hand of fire, 
For Cawnpore's day of nameless shames, and agony and fear, 
Aye, till the earthworks crumbled round the stout old Brigadier. 
Three months of ceaseless battle in that burning cordon's fold; 
Three months upon the verge of fate within that leaguered hold ; 
Hope of rescue lost and faded, hope of life itself departed, 
Still allegiance paid to duty, not a threatened post deserted, 
Peril shunned or danger shrunk from, by the worn, but golden- 
hearted ! [ance 
Heaven ! and is there, then, no succor ? not a ray-light of assur- 
For such unmatched resolution, such unquenchable endurance ? 
His all on duty's gory shrine been sacrificed in vain — 
Famine and burning thirst endured, and fever's racking pain ? 
And must they die unaided, and, such dreadful ordeal passed, 
Must the ruins they defended be their sepulchre at last, 
And none be left to tell the tale of bravery and woe ? 
Farewell, then, gallant countr3^men ! No ! by the round world, 

no! 
Hark ! booming in the distance, sv/eet as Hope's angelic lyre, 
A sound comes sailing like a note from Mercy's smiling choir I 
To the God in heaven be praise ! for 3'on gun's reverb'ing voice. 
Bids the weary sleep in safety, and the mourning souls rejoice. 
Now the thunder's diapason grows more resonant and strong, 
And the rifle's intonation bears a burden to its song ! 
Noble Havelock advances ! See his conquering banners wave ! 
Oh, smile again, ye gentle ones 1 bear up awhile, ye brave I 



58 THE trooper's story. 

Lo I breasting the war-surges, like a stout ship on the main, 
With the Campbell he is coming ! There's redemption in their 

train 1 
Heaven help the strong deliverers ! see their nimble rifles flash, 
As with slogan-shout triumphantly from post to post they dash — 
Hurrah ! the last stockade is shivered, and with high exulting 

cheer, 
They clasp their rescued comrades, and the stout old Brigadier ! 

James Reed. 



THE TROOPER'S STORY. 

Do I plead guilty to it ? Yes, I do, 

For I have never lied, ai\d shall not now ; 

But give me a dog's leave to say a word 

Touching what happened, and the why and how. 

The night-guard went their round that night at one ; 

My post was in the lower dungeon range, 
Down level with the moat, all slime and ooze 

And damp ; but there, 'tis fit we change and change, 

We sentinels. Besides, 'twas in a sort 
The place of honor, or of trust, we'll sa)^, 

For in the cell there with the mortised door 
The young boy-lord, guilty of treason, lay. 

Well, with my partisan I'd tramped an hour 
Down in the dark there — just a lantern hung 

By the wet wall — when close at hand I heard 
My own name spoken by a woman's tongue. 

My hair was like to lift my morion up, 

For the keep's haunted ; but I turned to see 

A woman like a ghost — white face, all white, 
Ready to drop, and not a yard from me. 



THE TROOPERS STORY. 59 

How she had come there, God in Heaven knows. 

However, long before my tongue I'd found, 
She tore out of her hair, the white pearls, big 

As pigeon's eggs, and then dropp'd to the ground. 

" One word ! " she said, " only one word with him. 

He dies to-morrow ! See ! my pearls I give ; 
My bracelets, too ! " She slipp'd them from her arms ; 

" One word, and I will bless you while I live. 

" Your face is stern. O ! but one word, one word ! " 

With my big hand I set her on her feet ; 
But she clung to me ; would not be thrust off, 

Still pleading in a bird's voice, soft and sweet. 

" Only one word with him ! " that was her plea ; 

" One word ; he would be dead at break of day ; " 
She wept till all her pretty face was wet. 

And my heart melted ; yea, she had her way. 

They spoke together. Did I hear.? Not I. 

Best ask me if I took her bribes. Well, there, 
You know the rest ; know how yon Judas spy, 

Yon starveling cur, crawled down the winding stairs. 

And how he caught the bird fast in the cage. 
And made report of me with eager breath. 

For breach of duty. Right, it was a breach. 
And that means, in our soldier fashion, death 1 

Well, I can face it ; I'm no craven hound. 
Like yonder Judas spy. Nay, had I leave 

To slit his weasand for him, as I'd slice 
An onion, I'd meet death and never grieve. 

William Sawyer, 



6o JIM BLUDSO. 



JIM BLUDSO. 

Wall, no ! I can't tell where he lives. 

Because he don't live, you see : 
Leastways, he's got out of the habit 

Of livin' like you and me. 
Whar have you been for the last three years, 

That you haven't heard folks tell 
How Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks, 

The night of the " Prairie Belle " ? 

He warn't no saint — them engineers 

Is all pretty much alike — 
One wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill, 

And another one here, in Pike. 
A careless man in his talk was Jim, 

And an awkward man in a row — 
But he never pinked, and he never lied, 

I reckon he never knowed how. 

And this was all the religion he had — 

To treat his engine well ; 
Never be passed on the riVer ; 

To mind the pilot's bell ; 
And if ever the " Prairie Belle " took fire, 

A thousand times he swore 
He'd hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last soul got ashore. 

All boats has their day on the Mississip', 

And her day came at last — 
The Movastar was a better boat, 

But the Belle, she wouldn't be passed, 
And so came tearin' along that night, 

The oldest craft on the line. 
With a nigger squat on her safety-valve, 

And her furnaces crammed, rosin and pine. 



THE CHRISTIAN MAIDEN AND THE LION. 6 1 

The fire bust out as she dared the bar, 

And burnt a hole in the night, 
And quick as a flash she turned, and made 

For that wilier-bank on the right. 
There was runnin' and cursin', but Jim yelled out 

Over all the infernal roar, 
*' I'll hold her nozzle agin the bank 

Till the last galoot's ashore." 

Thro' the hot, black breath of the burnin' boat 

Jim Bludso's voice was heard. 
And they all had trust in his cussedness, 

And know'd he would keep his word. 
And sure's you're born, they all got off 

Afore the smoke-stacks fell. 
And Bludso's ghost went up alone 

In the smoke of the " Prairie Belle." 

He warn't no saint — but at judgment 

I'd run my chance with Jim 
'Longside of some pious gentlemen 

That wouldn't shook hands with him. 
He'd seen his duty a dead sure thing, 

And went for it thar and then ; 
And Christ ain't a-goin' to be too hard 

On a man that died for men. 

John Hay. 



THE CHRISTIAN MAIDEN AND THE LION. 

•• Give the Christians to the lions ! " was the savage Roman's 

cry, 
And the vestal virgins added their voices shrill and high. 
And the Caesar gave the order, " Loose the lions from their den 1 
For Rome must have a spectacle worthy of gods and men.'* 



62 THE CHRISTIAN MAIDEN AND THE LION 

Forth to the broad arena a little band was led, 
But words forbear to utter how the sinless blood was shed. 
No sigh the victims proffered, but now and then a prayer 
From lips of age and lips of youth rose upward on the air ; 
And the savage Caesar muttered, " By Hercules ! I swear, 
Braver than gladiators these dogs of Christians are." 



Then a lictor bending slavishly, saluting with his axe. 
Said, " Mighty Imperator ! the sport one feature lacks : 
We have an Afric lion, savage, and great of limb 
Fasting since yestereven ; is the Grecian maid for him ? " 



The Emperor assented. With a frantic roar and bound, 
The monster, bursting from his den, gazed terribly around. 
And toward him moved a maiden, slowly, but yet serene ; 
*' By Venus ! " cried the Emperor, " she walketh like a queen." 

Unconscious of the myriad eyes she crossed the blood-soaked *. 

sand. 
Till face to face the maid and beast in opposition stand ; 
The daughter of Athene, in white arrayed, and fair, 
Gazed on the monster's lowered brow, and breathed a silent ' 

prayer. 
Then forth she drew a crucifix and held it high in air. 

Lo, and behold ! a miracle ! the lion's fury fled, 
And at the Christian maiden's feet he laid his lordly head, 
While as she fearlessly caressed, he slowly rose, and then, 
With one soft, backward look at her, retreated to his den. 
One shout rose from the multitude, tossed like a stormy sea : 
" The Gods have so decreed it ; let the Grecian maid go free I " 



Within the catacombs that night a saint with snow7 hair 
Folded upon his aged breast his daughter young and fair ; 
And the gathered brethren lift a chant of praise and prayer ; 
From the monster of the desert, from the heathen fierce and wild» 
God has restored Lo love and life his sinless, trusting child. 

Francis A. Durivare. 



THE SHIP ON FIRE. 63 



THE SHIP ON FIRE. 

Morning ! all speedeth well ; the bright sun 
Lights up the deep blue wave, and favoring breeze 
Fills the white sails, while o'er that Southern Sea 
The ship, with all the busy life within, 
Holds on her ocean course, alone, but glad ! 
For all is yet, as all has been, the while 
Since the white cliffs were left, without or fear 
Or danger to those hundred grouping now 
Upon the sunny deck. 

Fire ! Fire ! Fire ! Fire ! 

Scorching smoke in many a wreath, 

Sulphurous blasts of heated air ; 
Grim presentiment of quick death, 

Crouching fear and stern despair — 
Hist ! to what the master saith : 

" Steady, steersman ; steady there ! " Ay ! ay I 

To the deck the women led, 

Children helped by stalwart men; 
Calmly, firmly mustered. 

All the crew assembled then, 
And to order briefly said, 

Comes the sharp response again: Ay I ay! 

" To the masthead ! " It is done ; 

" Look to leeward ! " Scores obey ; 
" And to windward ! " Many a one 

Turns and never turns away ; 
Steadfast is the word and tone — 

" Man the boats and clear away I " Ay ! ay I 

Hotter ! hotter ! heave and strain, 

In the hollow, on the wave, 
Pump and flood the deck again. 

Work , no danger daunts the brave : 



64 THE SHIP ON FIRE. 

Hope and trust are not in vain, 
God looks on and He can save. Ay ! ay I 

Desolate ! All desolate ! 

Nothing, nothing to be seen ; 
Wait and watch and hope and wait, 

Hope has never hopeless been ; 
" Men, ye know that God is great ; 

Would He, He can intervene." Ay ! ay I 

*' What above ? " Nor sail, nor sound 

" Leeward ? " Nothing far or near ; 
" What to windward ? " To the bound 

Of the horizon all is clear ; 
Yet again the words go round — 

" Work, men, work ; we dare not fear I " Ay I ay J 

From a heavy lurch, a beam, 

Struggling, shivering, reeling back — 

Crash ! with rush and shout and scream 
Comes the foreyard with its wrack, 

Crushing hope, as it might seem — 

" Steady! keep the sunline track ! " Ay 1 ay I 

All is order ! ready all ! 

Watching in appointed place 
Underneath the sunny pall ; 

Firm of foot, with tranquil face, 
Resolute, whate'er befall, 

Holds the captain's measured pace. Ayl ay I 

Hotter, hotter, hotter still ! 

Backward driven every one ; 
All in vain the various skill ; 

All that man can do is done ; 
" Brave hearts ! strive yet with a will, 

Never deem that hope is gone." Ayl ayl 

Hist 1 as if a sudden thought 
Dare not utter what it knew, 



THE SHIP ON FIRE. 65 

Falls a trembling whisper, fraught 

As of hope, to frighten few ; 
With a doubting heart-ache caught, 

And a choking, " Is it true ? " Ay 1 ay I 

There comes " A sail ! a sail 1 " 

Up from prostrate misery. 
Up from heart-break, woe and wail, 

Up to shuddering ecstasy ; 
" Can so strange a promise fail ? 
Call the master, let him see ! " Ay ! ay I 
Silence! Silence! Silence! Pray! 

Every moment is an hour, 

Minutes long as weary years, 
While, with concentrated power, 

Through the haze that clear eye peers — 
" No — yes — no " — the strong men cower 

Till he sighs — faith conquering fears — Ay 1 ay I 

Riseth now the throbbing C17, 

Born of hope and hopelessness ; 
Iron men weep bitterly, 

Unused hands and cheeks caress ; 
Feelings, wild variety. 

Strange and heartless were it less. Ay ! ay I 

Through the sunlight's glittering gleam. 

On old ocean's rugged breast, 
As a fantasy in dream ; 

Yet beyond all doubt confessed, 
Comes the ship — God's gift they deem — 

Ah, "He overruleth best! " Ay! ay! 

Coming ! Comes ! that foremost man 

Shouts, as only true heart may, 
" Ship on fire ! You will ? You can ? 

Near us for the rescue, stay! " 
Almost as the' words began. 

Answering words are on their way — Ay I ay ! 
S 



66 THE SHIP ON FIRE. 

" Ay I ay ! " words of little worth 

But as imaging the soul ; 
See, the boats are struggling forth ; 

Marvel how they pitch and roll 
On the dark wave, through the froth ; 

God can bring them safe and whole. Ay ! ay ! 

Have a care, men ! have a care ! 

Steady, steady to the stern ! 
Now, my brave hearts, handy there ; 

See, the desk begins to burn ! 
Child and woman, soft and fair, 

Go; thank God ; be quick ; return. Ay! ay! 

Blistering smoke, all dim and red, 

Writhing flakes of lurid flame ; 
Decks that scorch the hasty tread ; 

Shuddering sounds, as if they came 
Wailing from a tortured bed ; 

Boatswain, call each man by name. Ay ! ay ! 

Strong, sad, now, one by one, 

At the voice which all obey ; 
Silently, till all are gone, 

Fill the boats and pass aw^ay, 
And the captain stands alone ; 

Has he not done well the day ? Ay ! ay ! 

Oh, that boat-load ! anxious eyes, 

Hearts where painful throbbings dwell, 

Wait and watch with sympathies 
Far too deep for tongue to tell , 

All suppressed are words and cries, 
Surely it will go all well ! Ay ! ay ! 

All is well ! that man so true 

Stands upon a stranger deck, 
And a thrilling pulse runs through 

Those glad hearts which none may check ; 
Listen to the wild halloo, 

Rainbow-joy in fortune's wreck. Ay ! ay ! 



1 



MARCO BOZZARIS. 6/ 

Pah ! a rush of smothered light 

Bursts the staggering ship asunder ; 
Lightnings flash, fierce and bright, 

Blasting sounds, as if of thunder. 
Dread destruction wins the fight, 

Round about, above and under. Ay! ay! 

Come away, we may not stay, 

All is done that man can do ; 
Let us take our onward way, 

Life has claims and duties new ; 
God is a strong help and true. 

He will guide our pathway through. Ay ! ay ! 

Thanks unceasing ! thanks and praise 

For the great deliverance shown ; 
May the remnant of our days 

Testify what He has done ; 
Marvellous are His loving ways. 

Merciful, as we have known ! Ay ! ay ! 

And so the good ship Merchantman sailed on, 
With double freight of life and God's kind care, 

Till at the Cape her rescued voyagers 

Left to the other kindness of the dwellers there, 

She spread her sails again and went her way. 

Henry Batetnait. 



MARCO BOZZARIS, 

At midnight, in his guarded tent. 
The Turk lay dreaming of the hour 

When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
Should tremble at his power ; 

In dreams, through camp and court he bore 

The trophies of a conqueror ; 

In dreams his song of triumph heard ; 



68 MARCO BOZZARIS. 

Then wore his monarch's signet ring — 
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king ! 
As wild his thoughts and gay of wing 
As Eden's garden bird. 

An hour passed on — the Turk awoke- 

That bright dream was his last ; 
He woke — to hear his sentry's shriek, 

" To arms ! they come ! the Greek ! the Greek ! " 
He woke — to die, midst flame and smoke, 
And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, 

And death-shots falling thick and fast 
As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, 

Bozzaris cheer his band — 
" Strike till the last armed foe expires ! 
Strike for your altars and your fires ! 
Strike for the green graves of your sires ! 

God, and your native land ! " 

They fought like brave men, long and well ; 

They piled that ground with Moslem slain ; 
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell. 

Bleeding at every vein. 
His few surviving comrades saw 
His smile when rung their proud hurrah, 

And the red field was won ; 
Then saw in death his eyelids close 
Calmly as to a night's repose, 

Like flowers at set of sun. 

Come to the bridal chamber. Death ! 

Come to the mother, when she feels. 
For the first time, her first-born's breath; 

Come when the blessed seals 
That close the pestilence are broke, 
And crowded»cities wail its stroke ; 
Come in Consumption's ghastly form. 
The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm ; 



KARL THE MARTYR. 69 

Come when the heart beats high and warm, 
With banquet song, and danCe, and wine, 

And thou art terrible ; the tear, 

The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 

And all we know, or dream, or fear 
Of agony, are thine ! 

But to the hero, when his sword 

Has won the battle for the free, 
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
And in its hollow tones are heard 

The thanks of millions yet to be. 
Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 

Greece nurtured in her glory's time, 
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave 

Even in her own proud clime. 

We tell thy doom without a sigh ; 
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's — 
One of the few, the immortal names, 

That were not born to die. 

Fitz- Greene Halleck. 



KARL THE MARTYR, 

It was the closing of a summer's day, 

And trellis'd branches from encircling trees 

Threw silver shadows o'er the golden space 

WHiere groups of merry-hearted sons of toil 

Were met to celebrate a village feast, 

Casting away, in frolic sport, the cares 

That ever press and crowd and leave their mark 

Upon the brows of all whose bread is earned 

By daily labor. 'Twas, perchance, the feast 

Of fav'rite saint, or anniversary 

Of one of bounteous Nature's season gifts 

To grateful husbandry — ri.o matter what 

The cause of their uniting. Joy beamed forth 



70 KARL THE MARTYR. 

On ev'ry face, and the sweet echoes rang 
With sounds of honest mirth, too rarely heard 
In the vast workshop man has made his world, 
Where months of toil must pay one day of song. 

Somewhat apart from the assembled throng 

There sat a swarthy giant, With a face 

So nobly grand, that though (unlike the rest) 

He wore nor festal garb nor laughing mien, 

Yet was he study for the painter's art. 

He joined not in their sports, but rather seemed 

To please his eye with sight of others' joy. 

There was a cast of sorrow on his brow, 

As though it had been early there. He sat 

In listless attitude, yet not devoic? 

Of gentlest grace, as down his stalwart form 

He bent, to catch the playful whisperings 

And note the movements of a bright-haired child 

Who danced before him in the evening sun, 

Holding a tiny brother by the hand. 

He was the village smith (the rolled-up sleeves 

And the well-charred leathern apron showed his craft), 

Karl was his name, a man beloved by all. 

He was not of the district. He had come 
Amongst them ere his forehead bore one trace 
Of age or suffering. A wife and child 
He had brought with him ; but the wife was dead. 
Not so the child, who danced before him now 
And held a tiny brother by the hand — 
Their mother's last and priceless legacy ! 
So Karl was happy still that these two lived, 
And laughed and danced before him in the sun. 

The frolics pause : now Caspar's laughing head 

Rests wearily against his father's knee 

In trusting lovingness : while Triidchen runs 

To snatch a hasty kiss (the little man. 

It may be, wonders if the tiny hand 

With which he strives to reach his father's neck 



KARL THE MARTYR. 7 1 

Will ever grow so big and brown as that 

He sees imbedded in his sister's curls) ; 

When quick as lightning's flash up starts the smith, 

Huddles the frightened children in his arms, 

Thrusts them far back, extends his giant frame. 

And covers them as with Goliath's shield. 

Now hark ! a rushing, yelping, panting sound, 

So terrible that all stood chilled with fear ; 

And in the midst of that late joyous throng 

Leapt an infuriate hound, with flaming eyes, 

Half-open mouth, and fiercely bristling hair, 

Proving that madness drove the brute to death. 

One spring from Karl, and the wild thing was seized 

Fast prison'd in the stalwart Vulcan's gripe. 

A sharp, shrill cry of agony from Karl 

Was mingled with the hound's low fevered growl, 

And all, with horror, saw the creature's teeth 

Fixed in the blacksmith's shoulder. None had power 

To rescue him ; for scarcely could you count 

A moment's space ere both had disappeared — 

The man and dog. The smith had leapt a fence, 

And gained the forest with a frantic rush, 

Bearing the hideous mischief in his arms. 

A long receding cry came on the ear, 

Showing how swift their flight, and fainter grew 

The sound. Ere well a man had time to think 

What might be done for help, the sound was hushed— 

Lost in the very distance ; women crouched 

And huddled up their children in their arms. 

Men flew to seek their weapons — 'twas a change 

So swift and fearful none could realize 

Its actual horrors for a time : but now. 

The panic past, to rescue and pursuit. 

Crash through the brake into the forest track ; 
But pitchy darkness, caused by closing night 
And foliage dense, impedes the avengers' way, 
When lo ? they trip o'er something in their path — 



n 



KARL THE MARTYR. 



It was the bleeding body of the hound, 
Warm, but quite dead. No other trace of Karl 
Was near at hand ; they called his name in vain, 
They sought him in the forest all night through — 
Living or dead he was not to be found. 

At break of day they left the fruitless search. 

Next morning, as an anxious village group 

Stood meditating plans what best to do, 

Came little Triidchen, who, in simple tones, 

Said, " Father's at the forge, I heard him there 

Working long hours ago, but he is angry, 

I raised the latch, he bade me to begone. 

What have I done to make him chide me so } " 

And then her bright blue eyes ran o'er with tears. 

" The child's been dreaming through this troubled nighty'* 

Said a kind dame, and drew the child towards her; 

But the sad answers of the girl were such 

As led them all to seek her father's forge. 

It lay beyond the village some short span ; 

They forced the door, and there beheld the smith. 

His sinewy frame was drawn to its full height, 

And round his loins a double chain of iron, 

Wrought with true workman skill, was riveted 

Fast to an anvil of enormous weight. 

He stood as pale and statue-like as death. 

Now let his own words close the hapless tale. 

" I killed the hound, you know, but not until 

His maddening venom through my veins had passed ; 

I know full well the death in store for me. 

And would not answer when you called my name, 

But crouched among the brushwood while I thought 

Over some plan. I know my giant strength. 

And dare not trust it after reason's loss ; 

Why, I might turn and rend whom most I love. 

I've made all fast now. 'Tis a hideous death. 

I thought to plunge me in the deep, still pool 

That skirts the forest, to avoid it ; but 



BEAU. 73 

I thought that for the suicide's poor shift 

I would not throw away my chance of heaven, 

And meeting one who made earth heaven to me. 

So I came home and forged these chains about me — 

Full well I know no human hand can rend them — 

And now am safe from harming those I love. 

K^ep off, good friends ! Should God prolong my life, 

Throw me such food as nature may require ; 

Look to my babes : this you are bound to do ; 

For by my deadly grasp on that poor hound 

How many of you have I saved from death 

Such as /now await ? But hence, away ! 

The poison works ! These chains must try their strength ; 

My brain's on fire ! With me 'twill soon be night." 

Too true his words ; the brave, great-hearted Karl — 
A raving maniac — battled with his chains 
For three fierce days. The fourth day saw him free — 
For Death's strong hand had loosed the martyr's bonds. 

Anon. 



BEAU, 

{Dedicated to the Modern " Hiroic " School of Writers) 
HON. PONDEROUS POLYLOQUENT, LOQUITUR. 

That reminds me, dear sir, of a little occurence which happened 

When I was a lad. 
Ah, let me replenish your glass, sir. And if you'll permit me, 

I shall be very glad 
To recount it to you, for I venture to flatter myself that 

It is other than bad. 

You observe, at the side table there, that majestic old darky 
Well, that, sir, is Beau, 



74 BEAU. 

The hero who made himself famous upon that occasion, 

A long time ago, 
'Way back in Virginia — let's see, if my memory serves me, 

In the year twenty-fo'. 

'Twas in Albemarle County, Virginia, my father resided 

Till the day that he died ; 
Well off in fine horses, and niggers, and arable acres. 

And family pride ; 
Thomas Jefferson's iriend ; as a horseman, a swordsman, a Chris- 
tian, 

Was he known, far and wide. 

This digression pray pardon. 'Twas there that he raised us to- 
gether — 

Old Beau there and me. 
Though Beau was a nigger, and I was the son of his owner, 

Not a tittle cared we ; 
We were simply two boys — we were friends — we were constant 
companions 

In work or on spree. 



Well, a cousin of mine, James Tottett, from Washington city. 

Came over one year 
To pay me a visit — a priggish young blue-blood and churlish, 

With an arrogant sneer 
For our" primitive " customs, and boasting his wondrous achieve- 
ments 

In tobacco and beer. 

From the first, Beau conceived a dislike to James, " the town- 
tackey," 

Which he sought not to hide ; 
While James was accustomed to make him the butt of his banter, 

And frequently tried 
To goad him by taunts to a quarrel, to which the young darkey 

Very seldom replied. 



BEAU. 75 

One Sabbath we went, with a lot of the neighboring youngsters — 

Inclusive of Beau 
And of James — to the river near by, our ultimate purpose 

A-swimming to go. 
Walking thither James ridiculed Beau more severely than usual 

(If he could have done so.) 

Now Beau was a wondrous musician on whistles and fiddles, 

Which he made with his knife, 
And. the Christmas preceding my father had brought him from 
Richmond 

A marvellous fife, 
To perform upon which, to his friends' and his own delectation, 

Was the pride of his life. 

And upon this occasion his fife, from his pocket projecting. 

In view of us all, 
Was snatched at by James. Then they clinched. In the tussle 
ensuing. 

Beau was rather too small : 
James gave him a drubbing, and then put the fife in his pocket, 

Thus concluding the brawl. 

We continued our journey until we arrived at the river, 

Our prime destination ; 
Our ablutions performed, our habiliments donned, 'twas suggested 

That, for more recreation. 
We proceed up the stream to the " Door of the Devil " which 
motion 

Received approbation. 

This Door of the Devil was then a notorious feature 

In the river hard by. 
Where the water dashed swirling beneath the steep bank exca- 
vated, 

With a sough and a sigh ; 
And never again had aught swallowed down by its current 

Been perceived by man's eye. 



"J^ BEAU. 

Arrived, we were gazing with wonder down at the white waters, 

And with some superstition, 
When, attempting to cast an unwieldy projectile into them, 

James lost his position — 
Falling in — in a trice sucked from sight — while we stood stark as 
statues. 

In our helpless condition. 

Great God ! Not an atom of hope ! Yet some one cried " Mur- 
der ! " 

In response to which call 
Came a number of parties — among them were Beau and my father, 

(Beau after the brawl 
Having sulked in the rear) — and despair and a sickening horror 

Filled the faces of all. 

No hope ; for the Door of the Devil never yields up its victims, 

And none is so rash 
As to forfeit his life in a futile endeavor to rescue, 

■^ Nor — Hold ! — like a flash, 
A figure darts through us — leaps over the bank — in an instant 

Disappears with a splash. 

It was Beau ! There's a breeze of a murmur, and then a dead 
silence; 

He can ne'er reappear : 
This we know, even though he is one of the finest of divers 

To be found far or near. 
Thus we wait a full minute — another — two heads above water ! 

And from us a hoarse cheer. 

There's a fearful suspense — a grand struggle — and Beau, with his 
burden. 

At last is ashore ; 
And the men rear him, dripping and bleeding, aloft on their 
shoulders, 

With a thunderous roar. • 
And my father for once is profane, as he swears, '* By Jehovah I 
He is FREE, evermore ! " 



BILL mason's bride. 77 

When James had recovered, he walked up to Beau, and he 
thanked him, 

, And assured him James Tottett 
Was his friend from that forth, and he offered his hand, but Beau 
scorned it, 

And muttered, " Dod rot it ! 
Do you think it war you I war after ? " (his hand on his pocket) — 
" 'Twar rayjife and I got it I " 

T. H. Robertson. 



BILL MASON'S BRIDE. 

Half an hour till train time, sir, 

An' a fearful dark night, too ; 
Take a look at the switch-lights, Tom, 

Fetch in a stick when you're through. 
" On time ? " well, yes, I guess so — 

Left the last station all right ; 
She'll come round the curve a flyin' — 

Bill Mason comes up to-night. 

You know Bill ? No ! he's engineer ; 

Been on the road all his life : 
I'll never forget the mornin' 

He married his chunk of a wife. 
'Tvvas the summer the mill hands struck- 

Jest off work, every one ; 
They kicked up a row in the village, 

And killed old Donovan's son. 

Bill hedn't been married more'n an hour, 
Up comes a message from Kress, 

Orderin' Bill to go up there 

And bring down the night express. 



78 BILL mason's bride. 

He left his gal in a hurry 
And went up on number one, 

Thinkin' of nothin' but Mary 
And the train he had to run. 

And Mary sat by the window 

To wait for the night express ; 
An', sir, if she hadn't ha' done so, 

She'd been a widow, I guess. 
For it must ha' been nigh midnight 

When them mill hands left the Ridge ; 
They come down — the drunken devils ! — 

Tore up a rail from the bridge. 
But Mary heard 'em a workin', 

And guessed there was somethin' wrong- 
And in less than fifteen minutes 

Bill's train it would be along ! 

She couldn't ha' come here to tell its^ 

A mile — it wouldn't ha' done ; 
So she jest grabbed up a lantern 

And made for the bridge alone. 
Then down came the night express, sir, 

And Bill was makin' her climb ! 
But Mary held the lantern, 

A swingin' it all the time. 

Well, by Jove ! Bill saw the signal, 

And he stopped the night express, 
And he found his Mary cryin' 

On the track, in her weddin' dress; 
Cryin' an' laughin' for joy, sir. 

An' holdin' on to the light — 
Hallo ! here's the train ! good-by, sir. 

Bill Mason's on time to-night ! 



Chiquita. 



THE SPANISH ARMADA. 79 



THE SPANISH ARMADA. 

Come all ye who list to hear our noble England's praise, 

I'll tell you the thrice famous deeds she wrought in ancient days ; 

When that great fleet invincible, against her bore in vain, 

The richest spoils of Mexico, the stoutest hearts of Spain. 

'Twas about the lovely close of a warm summer's day, 

There came a gallant merchant ship, full sail to Plymouth Bay ; 

Her crew had seen Castile's black fleet, beyond Aurigny's Isle, 

At earliest twilight on the wave lie heaving many a mile. 

At sunrise, she escaped their van by God's especial grace, 

But the tall Pinta, till the noon, had kept her close in chase ; 

Forthwith a guard at every gun was placed along the wall. 

The beacon blazed upon the roof of Edgecomb's lofty hall ; -* 

And many a fishing bark put out to pry along the coast, 

And with loose rein and bloody spur rode inland many a post. 

With his white hair unbonnetted, the stout old sheriff comes, 

Behind him march the halberdiers, before him sound the drums. 

His yeomen round the Market-cross make clear an ample space, 

For it behooves hnn to set up the standard of Her Grace. 

And haughtily the trumpet peals, and gayly dance the bells, 

As slow upon the laboring wind the royal blazon swells. 

Look ! how the Lion of the Sea lifts up his ancient crown. 

And underneath his deadly paw treads the gay lilies down ; 

So stalked he when he turned to flight, on that famed Picard, 

field, 
Bohemia's plume, Genoa's bow, and Cssar's eagle shield ; 
So glared he when, at Agincourt in wrath, he turned to bay, 
And crushed and torn, beneath his claws, the princely hunters lay. 
Ho ! strike the flagstaff deep. Sir Knight. Ho ! scatter flowers 

fair maids 
Ho ! gunners, fire a loud salute. Ho ! ' gallants, draw your 

blades. 
The sun, shine on her joyously, — ye breezes, waft her wide, 
Our glorious Semper eadem, the banner of our pride. 



80 THE SPANISH ARMADA. 

The freshening breeze of eve unfurled the banner's massy fold, 

The parting gleam of sunshine kissed the haughty scroll of gold. 

Night sank upon the dusky beach, and on the purple sea, 

Such night in England ne'er had been, and ne'er again shall be. 

From Eddystone to Berwick bound, from Lynn to Milford Bay, 

The time of slumber was as bright and busy as the day ; 

For swift to east, and swift to west the ghastly war-flame spread, 

High on St. Michael's Mount it shone, it shone on Beechy Head. 

Far on the deep the Spaniards saw along each Southern shire. 

Cape beyond cape, in endless range, those twinkling points of fire. 

The fisher left his skiff to rock on Tamar's glittering waves, 

The rugged poured to war from Mendip's sunless caves. 

O'er Longleat s towers, o'er Cranbourne's oaks the fiery heralds 

flew ; 
They roused the Shepherds of Stonehenge, the rangers of Beau- 
lieu. 
Right sharp and quick the bells rang out all night from Bristol 

town, 
And ere the day three hundred horse had met on Clifton-Down. 
The sentinel in Whitehall gate looked forth into the night, 
And saw o'erhanging Richmond hill a streak of blood-red light, 
Then bugle note, and cannon roar, the deathlike stillness broke. 
And with one start, and with one cry, the royal city woke ! 
At once on all her stately gates arose the answering fires. 
At once the wild alarum clashed from all her reeling spires. 
From all the batteries of the Tower pealed loud the voice of fear, 
And all the thousand masts of Thames sent back a louder cheer ; 
And from the farthest wards was heard the rush of hurrying feet, 
Broad streams of flags and pikes dashed down each roaring street. 
And broader still became the blaze, and louder still the dm, 
As fast from every village round, the horse came spurring in, 
And eastward straight from wild Blackheath the warlike errand 

went, 
And roused in many an ancient hall the gallant Squires of Kent ; 
Southward of Surrey's pleasant hills, flew those bright couriers 

forth. 
High on bleak Hampstead's swarthy moor they started from the 
north ; 



HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. 8 1 

And on, and on, without a pause, untired they bounded still, — 
All night from tower to tower they sprang, they sprang from hill 

to hill, 
Till the proud peak unfurled the flag o'er Darwin's rocky dales, 
Till like volcanoes flared to heaven, the stormy hills of Wales, 
Till twelve fair counties saw the blaze on Malvern's lonely hight. 
Till streamed in crimson on the wind the Wrekin's crest of light ; 
Till broad and fierce the star came forth on Ely's stately fane 
And tower and hamlet rose in arms o'er all the boundless plain ; 
Till Belvoir's lordly terraces the sign to Lincoln sent, 
And Lincoln sped the message on o'er the wide vale of Trent. 
Till Skiddaw saw the fire that burned on Gaunt's embattled pile, 
And the redglare on Skiddaw roused the Burghers of Carlisle. 

Lord Macaulay. 



HENR Y OF NA VARRE BEFORE PARIS. 

From Harper'' s Magazine. 

SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 

Down upon the 'leaguered town 
With forty thousand men he rode : 
The fields were bare, the meadows brown, 
The starving cattle faintly lowed. 

But conquering hero, he rode down — 
As if to hawk and bells he rode — 
While fields were bare and meadows brown 
And starving cattle faintly lowed. 

And just without the 'leaguered town 
They pitched their tents along the road, 
Or in the fields and meadows brown, 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 



82 



HENRY OF NAVARRE BEFORE PARIS. 



Day after day they stormed the town ; 
Day after day he laughing rode 
Across the fields and meadows brown, 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

One day from out the 'leaguered town 
There faltered forth along the road, 
And by the fields and meadows brown, 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

A wretched throng. The 'leaguered town 

Had cast aside its useless load, 

And by the fields and meadows brown, 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed, 

They faltered up, they faltered down, 
Half dazed with fear, along the road. 
Then, by the fields and meadows brown. 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

The hero who had stormed the town 
Day after day, and careless rode 
Day after day by meadows brown, 

W^here starving cattle faintly lowed, 

With swift, sharp strokes came riding down 
Along the white and dusty road, 
Unheeding still the meadows brown, 

The starving cattle as they lowed. 



His face was set beneath a frown ; 
His laughing eyes, that had bestowed 
No glance upon the meadows brown. 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

Now fierce, yet soft, looked shining down 
Upon the groups that thronged the road. 
Blind to the meadows bare and brown, 

Deaf to the cattle as thcv lowed. 



THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 83 

His great heart suddenly bore down 
The conqueror's pride, and back he rode, 
Past all the fields and meadows brown. 

Where starving cattle faintly lowed. 

He fed the people of the town — 
These famished groups that thronged the road 
And through the fields and meadows brown 
He called the cattle as they lowed, 

And fed them all. Then from the town 

He turned away and lightly rode 

Past all the fields and meadows brown. 

With face that shone and eyes that glowed. 

" Vive Dieul " he cried, " I'll take no town 
By famine's scourge : a fairer road 
Must Henry of Navarre ride down 

To find his triumphs well bestowed." 

Nora Perry. 



THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 

Banner of England, not for a season, O banner of Britain, hast 

thou 
Floated in conquering battle or flapt to the battle-cry ! 
Never with mightier glory than when we had rear'd thee on high 
Flying at top of the roofs in the ghastly siege of Lucknow — 
Shot thro' the staff or the halyard, but ever we raised thee anew. 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 

Frail were the works that defended the hold that we held with 

our lives — 
Women and children among us, God help them, our children and 

wives ! 
Hold it we might — and for fifteen days or for twenty at most. 
" Never surrender, I charge you, but every man die at his post I "- 



84 THE DEFE^XE OF LUCKNOW. 

Voice of the dead whom we loved, our Lawrence, the best of the 

brave : 
Cold were his brows when we kiss'd him — we laid him that night 

in his grave. 
" Every man die at his post ! " and there hail'd on our houses and 

halls 
Death from their rifle-bullets, and death from their cannon-balls. 
Death in our innermost chamber, and death at our slight barri- 
cade, 
Death while we stood with the musket, and death while we 

stoopt to the spade, 
Death to the dyingj and wounds to the wounded, for often there 

fell 
Striking the hospital wall, crashing thro' it, their shot and their 

shell, 
Death — for their spies were among us, their marksmen were told 

of our best, 
So that the brute bullet broke thro' the brain that could think for 

the rest ; 
Bullets would sing by our foreheads, and bullets would rain at our 

feet- 
Fire from ten thousand at once of the rebels that girdled us 

round — 
Death at the glimpse of a finger from over the breadth of a street, 
Death from the heights of the mosque and the palace, and death 

in the ground ! 
Mine ? yes, a mine ! Countermine ! down, down ! and creep thro' 

the hole ! 
Keep the revolver in hand 1 You can hear him — the murderous 

mole. 
Quiet, ah ! quiet — wait till the point of the pickaxe be thro' ! 
Click with the pick, coming nearer and nearer again than before — 
Now let it speaks and you fire, and the dark pioneer is no more ; 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 

Ay, but the foe sprung his mine many times, and it chanced on a 

day 
§oon as tb.e blast of that underground thunderclap echo'd away, 



THE DEFENCE OF LUCKNOW. 85 

Dark thro' the smoke and the sulphur like so many fiends in their 

hell- 
Cannon-shot, musket-shot, volley on volley, and yell upon yell — 
Fiercely on all the defences our myriad enemy fell. 
What have they done? where is it? Out yonder. Guard the 

Redan ! 
Storm at the Water-gate ! Storm at the Bailey-gate ! storm, and 

it ran 
Surging and swaying all round us, as ocean on every side 
Plunges and heaves at a bank that is daily drown'd by the tide — 
So many thousands that if they be bold enough, who shall escape ? 
Kill or be kill'd, live or die, they shall know we are soldiers and 

men ! 
Ready ! take aim at their leaders — their masses are gapp'd with 

our grape — 
Backward they reel like the wave, like the wave flinging forward 

again. 
Flying and foil'd at the last by the handful they could not subdue ; 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 

Handful of men as we were, we were English in heart and in limb, 
Strong with the strength of the race to command, to obey, to en- 
dure. 
Each of us fought as if hope for the garrison hung but on him ; 
Still — could we watch at all points ? we were every day fewer and 

fewer. 
There was a whisper among us, but only a whisper that past ; 
"Children and wives — if the tigers leap into the fold unawares — 
Every man die at his post — and the foe may outlive us at last — 
Better to fall by the hands that they love, than to fall into theirs ! " 
Roar upon roar in a moment two mines by the enemy sprung 
Clove into perilous chasms our walls and our poor palisades. 
Rifleman, true is your heart, but be sure that your hand be as true ! 
Sharp is the fire of assault, better aim'd are your flank fusillades — 
Twice do we hurl them to earth from the ladders to which they 

had clung, 
Twice from the ditch where they shelter we drive them with hand- 

grenades : 
And ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 



S6 



THE DEFKXCE OF LUCKNOW. 



Then on another wild morning another wild earthquake out-tore 
Clean from our lines of defence ten or twelve good paces or more. 
Rifleman, high on the roof, hidden there from the light of the 

sun — 
One has leapt up on the breach, crying out : " Follow me, follow 

me ! " — 
Mark him— he falls ! then another, and /i/'m too, and down goes 

he. 
Had they been bold enough then, who can tell but the traitors had 

won .'' 
Boardings and rafters and doors— an embrasure ! make way for 

the gun ! 
Now double-charge it with grape ! It is charged and we fire, and 

they run. 
Praise to our Indian brothers, and let the dark face have his due ! 
Thanks to the kindly dark faces who fought with us, faithful and 

few, 
Fought with the bravest among us, and drove them, and smote 

them, and slew, 
That ever upon the topmost roof our banner in India blew. 

Men will forget what we suffer and not what we do. We can 

fight; 
But to be soldier all day and be sentinel all through the night — 
Ever the mine and assault, our sallies, their lying alarms, 
Bugles and drums in the darkness, and shoutings and soundings 

to arms. 
Ever the labor of fifty that had to be done by five. 
Ever the marvel among us that one should be left alive. 
Ever the day with its traitorous death from the loop-holes around, 
Ever the night with its coffinless corpse to be laid in the ground, 
Heat like the mouth of a hell, or a deluge of cataract skies, 
Stench of old offal decaying, and infinite torment of flies, 
Thoughts of the breezes of May blowing over an English field. 
Cholera, scurvy, and fever, the wound that ivoidd not be healed, 
Lopping away of the limb by the pitiful-pitiless knife — 
Torture and trouble in vain — for it never could save us a life, 
Valor of delicate women who tended the hospital bed, 
Horror of women in travail among the dying and dead, 



THE EXECUTION OF QUEEN MARY. 8/ 

Grief for our perishing children, and never a moment for grief, 
Toil and ineffable weariness, faltering hopes of relief, 
Havelock baffled, or beaten, or butchered for all that we knew — 
Then day and night, day and night, coming down on the still-shat- 
tered walls 
Millions of musket-bullets, and thousands of cannon-balls — 
But ever upon the topmost roof our banner of England blew. 

Hark cannonade, fusillade ! is it true what was told by the scout ? 

Outram and Havelock breaking their way through the fell muti- 
neers ! 

Surely the pibroch of Europe is ringing again in our ears ! 

All on a sudden the garrison utter a jubilant shout, 

Havelock's glorious Highlanders answer with conquering cheers, 

Forth from their holes and their hidings our women and children 
come out, 

Blessing the wholesome white faces of Havelock's good fusileers, 

Kissing the war-hardened hand of the Highlander wet with their 
tears! 

Dance to the pibroch ! — saved ! we are saved ! — is it you ? is it 
you ? 

Saved by the valor of Havelock, saved by the blessing of Heaven ! 

" Hold it for fifteen days ! " we have held it for eighty-seven ! 

Aod ever aloft on the palace roof the old banner of England 
blew. 

Alfred Tennyson. 



EXECUTION OF QUEEN MARY. 

The Queen arrived in the hall of death. Pale but 
unflinching she contemplated the dismal preparations. 
There lay the block and the axe. There stood the ex- 
ecutioner and his assistant. All were clothed in 
On the floor was scattered the sawdust 



88 THE EXECUTION OF QUEEN MARY. 

which was to soak her blood, and in a dark corner lay 
the bier. It was nine o'clock when the Queen ap- 
peared in the funereal hall. Fletcher, Dean of Peter- 
borough, and certain privileged persons, to the number 
of more than two hundred, were assembled. The hall 
was hung with black cloth ; the scaffold, which was el" 
evated about two feet and a half above the ground, was 
covered with black frieze of Lancaster ; the arm-chair 
in which Mary was to sit, the footstool on which she 
was to kneel, the block on which her head was to be 
laid, were covered with black velvet. 

The Queen was clothed in mourning like the hall 
and as the ensign of punishment. Her black velvet 
robe, with its high collar and hanging sleeves, was bor- 
dered with ermine. Her mantle, lined with marten 
sable, was of satin, with pearl buttons and a long train. 
A chain of sweet-smelling beads, to which was attached 
a scapulary, and beneath that a golden cross, fell upon 
her bosom. Two rosaries were suspended to her gir- 
dle, and a long veil of white lace, which in some meas- 
ure softened this costume of a widow and of a con- 
demned criminal, was thrown around her. 

Arrived on the scaffold, Mary seated herself in the 
chair provided for her, with her face toward the specta- 
tors. The Dean of Peterborough, in ecclesiastical cos- 
tume, sat on the right of the Queen, with a black velvet 
footstool before him. The Earls of Kent and Shrews- 
bury were seated, like him, on the right, but upon larger 
chairs. On the other side of the Queen stood the 
Sheriff, Andrews, with white wand. In front of Mary 
were seen the executioner and his assistant, distin- 
guishable by their vestments of black velvet with red 



THE EXECUTION OF QUEEN MARY. 89 

crape round the left arm. Behind the Queen's chair, 
ranged by tlie wall, wept her attendants and maidens. 

In the body of the hall, the nobles and citizens from 
the neighboring counties were guarded by musketeers. 
Beyond the balustrade was the bar of the tribunal. 
The sentence was read; the Queen protested against 
it in the name of royalty and of innocence, but accepted 
death for the sake of the faith. She then knelt before 
the block and the executioner proceeded to remove her 
veil. She repelled him by a gesture, and turning tow- 
ard the Earls with a blush on her forehead, " I am 
not accustomed," she said, " to be undressed before so 
numerous a company, and by the hands of such grooms 
of the chamber." 

She then called Jane Kennedy and Elizabeth Curie, 
who took off her mantle, her veil, her chains, cross, 
and scapulary. On their touching her robe, the Queen 
told them to unloosen the corsage and fold down the 
ermine collar, so as to leave her neck bare for the axe. 
Her maidens weepingly yielded her these last services. 
Melvil and the three other attendants wept and la- 
mented, and Mary placed her finger on her lips to signify 
that they should be silent. She then arranged the 
handkerchief embroidered with thistles of gold with 
which her eyes had been covered by Jane Kenned}'. 

Thrice she kissed the crucifix, each time repeating, 
"Lord, into Thy hands I commend my spirit." She 
knelt anew and leant her head on that block which was 
already scored with deep marks, and in this solemn at- 
titude she again recited some verses from the Psalms. 
The executioner interrupted her at the third verse by a 
blow of the axe, but its trembling stroke only grazed 



90 CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 

her neck ; she groaned slightly, and the second blow 
separated the head from the body. — Lamartine. 



CURFE W MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT. 

England's sun was slowly setting o'er the hills so far away, 

Filling all the land with beauty at the close of one sad day ; 

And the last rays kiss'd the forehead of a man and maiden fair, 

He with step so slow and weakened, she with sunny floating 
hair ; 

He with sad bowed head, and thoughtful, she with lips so cold 
and white. 

Struggling to keep back the murmur, " Curfew must not ring to- 
night." 

" Sexton," Bessie's white lips faltered, pointing to the prison 
old, 

With its walls so dark and gloomy— walls so dark and damp and 
cold — 

"I've a lover in that prison, doomed this very night to die 

At the ringing of the Curfew, and no earthly help is nigh. 

Cromwell will not come till sunset," and her face grew strangely 
white. 

As she spoke in husky whispers, " Curfew must not ring to- 
night." 

•' Bessie," calmly spoke the sexton — every word pierced her 
young heart 

Like a thousand gleaming arrows, like a deadly-poisoned dart — 

" Long, long years I've rung the Curfew from that gloomy shad- 
owed tower ; 

Every evening, just at sunset, it has told the twilight hour ; 

I have done my duty ever, tried to do it just and right, 

Now I'm old I will not miss it; girl, the Curfew rings to-night !" 

Wild her eyes and pale her features, stern and white her thought 
ful brow, 

And within her heart's deep centre, Bessie made a solemn vow ; 



CURFEW MUST NOT RING TO-NIGHT, 9I 

She had listened while the judges read, without a tear or sigh, 
" At the ringing of the Curfew — Basil Underwood tnust die" 
And her breath came fast and faster, and her eyes grew large 

and bright — 
One low murmur, scarcely spoken — " Curfew must not ring to- 
night ! " 
She with light step bounded forward, sprang within the old church 

door. 
Left the old man coming slowly paths he'd trod so oft before ; 
Not one moment paused the maiden, but with cheek and brow 

aglow, 
Staggered up the gloomy tower, where the bell swung to and fro; 
Then she climbed the slimy ladder, dark, without one ray of 

light, 
Upward still, her pale lips saying : " Curfew shall not ring to 

night." 
She has reached the topmost ladder, o'er her hangs the great 

dark bell; 
And the awful gloom beneath her, like the pathway down to 

hell ; 
See, the ponderous tongue is swinging, 'tis the hour of Curfew 

now. 
And the sight has chilled her bosom, stopped her breath and 

. paled her brow. 
Shall she let it ring? No, never! her eyes flash with sudden 

light, 
As she springs and grasps it firmly — " Curfew shall not ring to- 
night ! " 
Out she swung, far out, the city seemed a tiny speck below ; 
There, 'twixt heaven and earth suspended, as the bell swung to 

and fro ; 
And the half-deaf sexton ringing (years he had not heard the 

bell). 
And he thought the twilight Curfew rang young Basil's funeral 

knell ; 
Still the maiden clinging firmly, cheek and brow so pale and 

white. 
Stilled her frightened heart's wild beating — " Curfew shall not 

ring to-night,^'' 



92 HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL S. 

It was o'er — the bell ceased swaying, and the maiden stepped 

once more 
Firmly on the damp old ladder, where for hundred years before 
Human foot had not been planted ; and what she this night had 

done 
Should be told in long years after — as the rays of setting sun 
Light the sky with mellow beauty, aged sires with heads of white 
Tell their children why the Curfew did not ring that one sad 

night. 
O'er the distant hills came Cromwell ; Bessie saw him, and her 

brow, 
Lately white with sickening terror, glows with sudden beauty 

now ; 
At his feet she told her story, showed her hands all bruised and 

torn ; 
And her sweet young face so haggard, with a look so sad and 

worn. 
Touched his heart with sudden pity — lit his eyes with misty 

light; 
" Go, your lover lives ! " cried Cromwell ; " Curfew shall not 

ring to-night." 

Anon. 



HOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 

'Tw^AS long ago — ere ever the signal gun 

That blazed before Fort Sumter had wakened the North as one ; 

Long ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire 

Had marked where the unchained millions marched on to their 

heart's desire. 
On roofs and glittering turrets, that night, as the sun went down, 
The mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled crown. 
And, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted their eyes. 
They saw the pride of the city, the spire of St. Michael's, rise 

High over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball, 
That hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward fall j 



HOV/ HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL'S. 93 

First glimpse of home to the sailor who made the harbor round, 

And last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound. 

The gently-gathering shadows shut out the waning light ; 

The children prayed at their bedsides as they were wont each 

night ; 
The noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was gone, 
And in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered on. 

But another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping street, 
For a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of trampling feet ; 
Men stared in each other's faces, thro' mingled fire and smoke, 
While the frantic bells went clashing clamorous, stroke on 

stroke. 
By the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless mother fled, 
With the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in nameless 

dread ; 
While the fire-king's wild battalions scaled wall and capstone 

high, 
And planted their glaring banners against an inky sky. 
From the death that raged behind them, and the crush of ruin 

loud. 
To the great square of the city, were driven the surging crowd, 
Where yet firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the fiery flood, 
With its heavenward pointing finger the church of St. Michael's 

stood. 

But e'en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden wail 
A cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale. 
On whose scorching wings updriven, a single flaming brand, 
Aloft on' the towering steeple clung like a bloody hand. 
" Will it fade ? " the whisper trembled from a thousand whiten- 
ing lips ; 
Far out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the ships. 
A baleful gleam, that brighter and ever brighter shone, 
Like a flickering, trembling will-o'-the-wisp to a steady beacon 

grown. 
*' Uncounted gold shall be given to the man whose brave right 

hand, 
For the love of the perilled city, plucks down yon burning brand ! " 



94 HOW HE SAVED ST. MICPIAEL'S. 

So cried the Mayor of Charleston, that all the people heard. 
But they looked each one at his fellow, and no man spoke a word. 
Who is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to the sky — 
Clings to a column and measures the dizzy spire with his eye ? 
Will he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible, sickening 

height, 
Or will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins at the 

sight ? 
But see ! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with his feet 

and his hands. 
And firm on a narrow projection, with the belfr\' beneath him, he 

stands ! 
Now once, and once only, they cheer him — a single tempestuous 

breath, 
And there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like the stillness 

of death. 
Slow, steadily mounting, unheediitg aught save the goal of the fire, 
Still higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face of the 

spire ; 
He stops! Will he fall? Lo! for answer, a gleam like a me- 
teor's track. 
And, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red brand lies 

shattered and black ! 
Once more the shouts of the people have rent the quivering air ; 
At the church door mayor and council wait with their feet on the 

stair, 
And the eager throng behind them press for a touch of his 

hand — 
The unknown savior whose daring could compass a deed so grand. 



But why does a sudden tremor seize on them as they gaze ? 
And what meaneth that stifled murmur of wonder and amaze ? 
Me stood in the gate of the temple he had perilled his life to save, 
And the face of the unknown hero was the sable face of a slave 1 
With folded arms he was speaking in tones that were clear, not 

loud, 
And his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the eyes of the 

crowd. 



BETH GELERT. 95 

" Ye may keep your gold, I scorn it ! but answer- me, ye who can, 
If the deed I have done before you be not the deed of a man ? " 

He stepped but a short space backward, and from all the women 

and men 
There were only sobs for answer, and the mayor called for a pen. 
And the great seal of the city, that he might read who ran. 
And the slave who saved St. Michael's went out from its door a 

man. 

Mary A. P. Stansbury. 



BETH GELERT, 



The spearman heard the bugle sound, and cheerly smiled the 

morn, 
And many a brach and many a hound attend Llewellyn's horn; 
And still he blew a louder blast, and gave a louder cheer : 
*' Come, Gelert ! why art thou the last Llewellyn's horn to hear? 
Oh, where does faithful Gelert roam .'' the flower of all his race ! 
So true, so brave ! a lamb at home — a lion in the chase ! " 

'Twas only at Llewellyn's board the faithful Gelert fed ; 

He watched, he served, he cheered his lord, and sentinell'd his bed. 

In sooth, he was a peerless hound, the gift of royal John — 

But now no Gelert could be found, and all the chase rode on. 

And now, as over rocks and dells the gallant chidings rise, 

All Snowdon's craggy chaos yells with many mingled cries. 

That day Llewellyn little loved the chase of hart or hare, 

And scant and small the booty proved — for Gelert was not there. 

Unpleased, Llewellyn homeward hied ; when, near the portal seat, 

Mis truant Gelert he espied, bounding his lord to greet. 

Kut when he gained the castle door, aghast the chieftain stood ; 

The hound was smeared with gouts of gore : — his lips and fangs 

ran blood ! 
Llewellyn gazed with wild surprise, unused such looks to meet ; 
His favorite checked his joyful guise, and crouched, and licked 

his feet. 



96 BETH GELERT. 

Onward in haste Llewellyn passed — and on went Gelert too; 
And still, where'er his eyes were cast, fresh blood-gouts shocked 

his view ! 
O'erturned his infant's bed he found ! the blood-stained covert 

rent ; 
And all around the walls and ground with recent blood besprent I 
He called his child — no voice replied ! he searched with terror 

Avild : 
Blood ! blood ! he found on every side, but nowhere found the 

child ! 
" Hell-hound ! by thee my child's devoured ! " the frantic father 

cried, 
And to the hilt his vengeful sword he plunged in Gelert's side ! — 
His suppliant as to earth he fell no pity could impart ; 
But still his Gelert's dying yell passed heavy o'er his heart. 

Aroused by Gelert's dying yell, some slumberer wakened nigh; 
What words the parent's joy can tell, to hear his infant cry ! 
Concealed beneath a mangled heap his hurried search had missed» 
All glowing from his rosy sleep his cherub boy he kissed ! 
Nor scratch had he, nor harm, nor dread — but the same couch be- 
neath 
Lay a great wolf, all torn and dead — tremendous still in death ! 

Ah ! what was then Llewellyn's pain ! for now the truth was clear 
The gallant hound the wolf had slain, to save Llewellyn's heir. 
Vain, vain was all Llewellyn's woe : " Best of thy kind, adieu ! 
The frantic deed which laid thee low this heart shall ever rue ! " 
And now a gallant tomb they raise, with costly sculpture decked ; 
And marbles, storied with his praise, poor Gelert's bones protect. 
Here never could the spearman pass, or forester, unmoved , 
Here oft the tear besprinkled grass Llewellyn's sorrow proved. 
And here he hung his horn and spear ; and oft, as evening fell, 
In fancy's piercing sounds would hear poor Gelert's dying yell ! 

IV. L. Spencer. 



THE LITTLE HERO. Q/ 



THE LITTLE HERO. 

Now, lads, a short yarn I'll just spin you, 
As happened on our very last run — 

'Bout a boy as a man's soul had in him, 
Or else I'm a son of a gun. 

From Liverpool port out three days, lads ; 

The good ship floating over the deep ; 
The skies bright with sunshine above us; 

The waters beneath us asleep. 

Not a bad-tempered lubber among us; 

A jollier creW never sailed, 
'Cept the first mate, a bit of a savage, 

But good seaman as ever was hailed. 

Regulation, good order, his motto ; 

Strong as iron, steady as quick; 
With a couple of bushy black eyebrows, 

And eyes fierce as those of Old Nick. 

One day he comes up from below, 

A-graspin' a lad by the arm — 
A poor little ragged young urchin 

As had ought to bin home to his marm. 

An' the mate asks the boy, pretty roughly. 
How he dared for to be stowed away, 

A-cheatin' the owners and captain, 
Sailin', eatin', and all without pay. 

The lad had a face bright and sunny. 
An' a pair of blue eyes like a girl's, 

An' looks up at the scowlin' first mate, lads, 
An' shakes back his long, shining curls. 

7 



THE LITTLE HERO. 

An' says he, in a voice dear and pretty, 

" My step-father brought me aboard, 
And hid me away down the stairs there ; 

For to keep me he couldn't afford. 

" And he told me the big ship would take me 

To Halifax town — oh, so far ! 
And he said, ' Now the Lord is your father, 

Who lives where the good angels are.' " 

" It's a lie," says the mate ; " not your father, 
But some of these big skulkers aboard ; 

Some milk-hearted, soft-headed sailor. 
Speak up, tell the truth, d'ye hear ? " 

" 'Twarn't us," growled the tars as stood round 'em. 

" What's your age ? " says one of the brine. 
"And your name ? " says another old salt fish. 

Says the small chap, " I'm Frank, just turned nine." 

" Oh, my eyes ! " says another bronzed seaman 
To the mate, who seemed staggered hisself, 

" Let him go free to old Novy Scoshy, 
And I'll work out his passage myself." 

" Belay! " says the mate : " shut your mouth, man ! 

I'll sail this 'ere craft, bet your life, 
An' I'll fit the lie onto you somehow, 

As square as a fork fits a knife." 

Then a-knitting his black brows with anger, 

He tumbled the poor slip below ; 
An', says he, " P'r'aps to-morrow'll change you ; 

If it don't, back to England you go." 

I took him some dinner, be sure, mates, 

Just think, only nine years of age ! 
An' next day, just as six bells tolled, 

The mate brings him up from his cage. 



THE LITTLE HERO. 99 

An' he plants him before us amidships, 

His eyes like two coals all a-light ; 
An' he says, through his teeth, mad with passion, 

An' his hand lifted ready to smite. 

" Tell the truth, lad, and then I'll forgive you ; 

But the truth I will have. Speak it out. 
It wasn't your father as brought you, 

But some of these men hereabout." 

Then that pair o' blue eyes, bright and winning, 

Clear and shining with innocent youth, 
Looks up at the mate's bushy eyebrows ; 

An', says he, " Sir, I've told you the truth." 

'Twarn't no use : the mate didn't believe him, 

Though every man else did, aboard, 
With rough hand by the collar he seized him. 

And cried, " You shall hang, by the Lord ! " 

An' he snatched his watch out of his pocket, 

Just as if he'd been drawin' a knife. 
** If in ten minutes more you don't speak, lad 

There's the rope, and good-by to your life." 

There ! you never see such a sight, mates. 

As that boy with his bright, pretty face — 
Proud, though, and steady with courage. 

Never thinking of asking for grace. 

Eight minutes went by all in silence. 

Says the mate then, " Speak, lad : say your say." 
His eyes slowly filling with tear-drops, 

He faltering says, " May I pray .? " 

I'm a rough and hard old tarpa'lin 

As any ''blue-jacket " afloat ; 
But the salt water springs to my eyes, lads. 

And I felt my heart rise in my throat. 



lOO THE LITTLE HERO. 

The mate kind o' trembled an' shivered, 

And nodded his head in reply ; 
And his cheek went all white of a sudden, 

And the hot light was quenched in his eye. 

Tho' he stood like a figure of marble. 

With his watch tightly grasped in his hand, 

And the passengers all still around him : 
Ne'er the like was on sea or on land. 

An' the little chap kneels on the deck there. 
An' his hands he clasps over his breast, 

As he must ha' done often at home, lads, 
At night-time, when going to rest. 

And soft come the first words, " Our Father," 
Low and soft from the dear baby-lip ; 

But, low as they were, heard like trumpet . 
By each true man aboard of that ship. 

Ev'ry bit of that prayer, mates, he goes through. 
To, " Forever and ever. Amen." 

And for all the bright gold of the Indies 
I wouldn't ha' heard it again. 

And, says he, when he finished, uprising 

An' lifting his blue eyes above, 
" Dear Lord Jesus, oh, take me to Heaven, 

Back again to my own mother's love 1 " 

For a minute or two, like a magic. 
We stood every man like the dead. 

Then back to the mate's face comes running 
The life-blood again, wami and red. 

Off his feet was that lad sudden lifted, 
And clasped to the mate's rugged breast ; 

And his husky voice muttered " God bless you i 
As his lips to his forehead he pressed. 



THE POLISH BOY. IQI 

If the ship hadn't been a good sailer, 

And gone by herself right along, 
All had gone to Old Davy ; for all, lads. 

Was gathered 'round in that throng. 

Like a man, says the mate, " God forgive me, 

That ever I used you so hard. 
It's myself as had ought to be strung up, 

Taut and sure, to that ugly old yard." 

" You believe me, then ? " said the youngster. 

" Believe you ! " He kissed him once more. 
" You'd have laid down your life for the truth, lad ? 

Believe you ! From now, evermore ! " 

An' p'r'aps, mates, he wasn't thought much on 

All that day and the rest of the trip ; 
P'r'aps, he paid, after all, for his passage; 

P'r'aps he wasn't the pet of the ship ! 

An' if that little chap ain't a model 

For all, young or old, short or tall. 
And if that ain't the stuff to make men of, 

Old Ben, he knows naught after all. 

Matthison, 



THE POLISH BOY. 

Whence come those shrieks so wild and shrill 
That cut, like blades of steel, the air. 

Causing the creeping blood to chill 
With the sharp cadence of despair ? 

Again they come, as if a heart 

Were cleft in twain by one quick blow, 

And every string had voice apart 
To utter its peculiar woe. 



102 THE POLISH BOY. 

Whence came they? from yon temple where 
An altar, raised for private prayer, 
Now forms the warrior's marble bed 
Who Warsaw's gallant armies led. 

The dim funereal tapers throw 
A holy lustre o'er his brow, 
And burnish with their rays of light 
The mass of curls that gather bright 
Above the haughty brow and eye 
Of a young boy that's kneeling by. 

What hand is that, whose icy press 

Clings to the dead with death's own grasp, 
But meets no answering caress ? 

No thrilling fingers seek its clasp .'' 
It is the hand of her whose cry 

Rang wildly, late, upon the air, 
When the dead warrior met her eye 

Outstretched upon the altar there. 

With pallid lip and stony brow 
She murmurs forth her anguish now. 
But hark ! the tramp of heavy feet 
Is heard along the bloody street ; 
Nearer and nearer yet they come, 
With clanking arms and noiseless drum. 
Now whispered curses, low and deep, 
Around the holy temple creep ; 
The gate is burst ; a rufifian band 
Rush in and savagely demand. 
With brutal voice and oath profane, 
The startled boy for exile's chain. 

The mother sprang with gesture wild, 
And to her bosom clasped her child ; 
Then with pale cheek and flashing eye 
Shouted with fearful energy, 
" Back, ruffians, back, nor dare to tread 
Too near the body of my dead ; 



THE POLISH BOY. 103 

Nor touch the living boy — I stand 

Between him and your lawless band. 

Take me, and bind these arms, these hands, 

With Russia's heaviest iron bands, 

And drag me to Siberia's wild 

To perish, if 'twill save my child ! " 

" Peace, woman, peace ! " the leader cried, 
Tearing the pale boy from her side, 
And in his ruffian grasp he bore 
His victim to the temple door. 

" One moment ! " shrieked the mother ; " one ! 

"Will land or gold redeem my son ? 

Take heritage, take name, take all, 

But leave him free from Russian thrall ! 

Take these ! " and her white arms and hands 

She stripped of rings and diamond bands, 

And tore from braids of long black hair 

The gems that gleamed like starlight there; 

Her cross of blazing rubies last 

Down at the Russian's feet she cast. 

He stooped to seize the glittering store — 

Upspringmg from the marble floor, 

The mother, with a cry of joy, 

Snatched to her leaping heart the boy. 

But no ! the Russian's iron grasp 

Again undid the mother's clasp. 

Forward she fell, with one long cry 

Of more than mortal agony. 

But the brave child is roused at length, 

And breaking from the Russian's hold, 
He stands, a giant in the strength 

Of his young spirit, fierce and bold. 
Proudly he towers ; his flashing eye, 

So blue, and yet so bright. 
Seems kindled from the eternal sky, 

So brilliant is its light. 



104 THE POLISH BOY. 

His curling lips and crimson cheeks 
Foretell the thought before he speaks ; 
With a full voice of proud command 
He turned upon the wondering band : 
" Ye hold me not ! no, no, nor can ! 
This hour has made the boy a man ! 
I knelt before my slaughtered sire, 
Nor felt one throb of vengeful ire. 
I wept upon his marble brow, 
Yes, wept ! I was a child ; but now — 
My noble mother, on her knee, 
Hath done the work of years for me ! " 

He drew aside his broidered vest. 

And there, like slumbering serpent's crest, 

The jewelled haft of poniard bright 

Glittered a moment on the sight. 

" Ha ! start ye back ! Fool ! coward ! knave I 

Think ye my noble father's glaive 

Would drink the life-blood of a slave ? 

The pearls that on the handle flame 

Would blush to rubies in their shame ; 

The blade would quiver in thy breast. 

Ashamed of such ignoble rest. 

No ! thus I rend the tyrant's chain. 

And fling him back a boy's disdain ! " 

A moment, and the funeral light 
Flashed on the jewelled weapon bright ; 
Another, and his young heart's blood 
Leaped to the floor, a crimson flood. 
Quick to his mother's side he sprang, 
And ©n the air his clear voice rang : 
" Up, mother, up ! I'm free ! I'm free i 
The choice was death or slavery. 
Up, mother, up ! Look on thy son ! 
His freedom is forever won ; 
And now he waits one holy kiss 
To bear his father home in bliss — 



THE BALLAD OF RONALD CLARE. I05 

One last embrace, one blessing — one ! 
To prove thou knowest, approvest thy son. 
What ! silent yet ? Canst thou not feel 
My warm blood o'er my heart congeal ? 
Speak, mother, speak ! lift up thy head ! 
What ! silent still ? Then art thou dead ? 

Great God, I thank Thee ! Mother, I 

Rejoice with thee — and thus — to die ! " 
One long, deep breath, and his pale head 
Lay on his mother's bosom — dead. 

A 77.71. S. Stephens. 



THE BALLAD OF RONALD CLARE. 

Midway up a sloping hill a grim old castle stands. 

And, like a sentinel, keeps watch o'er the valley's shining lands; 

Its frowning battlements are gray with the weary weight of 

years, 
And of its silent chambers one is sanctified by tears. 

Ah ! long ago that castle's halls with merry laughter rang ; 

And maiden's song, and warrior's oath, and armor's clash and 

clang. 
Made glad the echoes ringing through its broad, iron-studded 

doors ; 
And sunlight flecked the shadows gray along its oaken floors. 

Then smiles made bright the sunny face of one long passed awav, 
Whose golden hair shone radiant; whose voice was blithe and 

gay 

As any robin's whose red breast among the hawthorn glows 
When sunlit skies and violets' breath foretell the coming rose. 

The castle's lord her father was, a baron stout and bold. 

With hair of gray, and brawny arm, and heart made stern and 

cold 
By the hard blows of bitter frays, and forays wild and red, 
When burnins; homes shone lurid on their owners stark and dead. 



I06 THE BALLAD OF RONALD CLARE. 

Only one joy made light his soul, — his daughter's lovely grace ; 
The one great vow he ne'er forswore was, " By her sweet bright 

face ; " 
And he had marked a fate for her, as noble, high, and fair, 
That he could see a crown's bright gold melt in her golden hair. 

Among the knights that round his hall hung sword and lance in 

rest. 
Young Ronald Clare in march or fray was always counted best ; 
No voice was sweeter in the camp, or had such store of song ; 
No hand was swifter in the fight, or e'er gave blows more strong. 

And Elsie's eyes shone bright whene'er she heard his step draw 
nigh. 

And sweet the smile that on her face made to his look reply ; 

And even the bugle's blowing could not make Clare's heart re- 
joice 

As could the rippling music of sweet Elsie's ringing voice. 

Ah ! soon or late love claims the due of kisses warm and sweet. 
Of looks and words, and thrills of joy, whene'er true lovers meet i 
And soon or late there comes the chill of words that sting and 

pain. 
And blooming cheeks and laughing eyes see their bright glory 

wane. 

When daisies in the meadows bloomed, and heather clothed the 

hill,. 
And bird-songs all the orchard filled, and ploughmen's calls rang 

shrill. 
The lovers wandered hand in hand amid the forest's shade, 
And at the last by a broad stream their lingering footsteps 

strayed. 

" Oh that our lives might ever run like this clear stream ! *' he 

said : 
Then flashed a helmet on his sight; and, *' Curse your caitiff 

head ! " 



THE BALLAD OF RONALD CLARE. 10/ 

The stern voice of the baron cried ; and then, " How did you 

dare 
To lift your eye so far above your state ? say, Ronald Clare ? " 

The young man laughed : " I lift my eyes ? Methinks that you 

are mad. 
Whose sword has done most work for you, of all the swords you 

had ? 
Whose blood has flowed the readiest to win you wealth and 

fame ? 
And why, I pray, is not my own as good as your old name ? " 

" Go to ! " the baron cried, and swift his sword gleamed in his 

hand : 
"There is but one name fit for her; and that, Queen of the 

Land. 
So stand your ground ; for now you die ! " Young Clare's laugh 

rang again : 
" Not now," he said, " shall your bright sword in my blood find a 

stain. 

" I go ; but I shall come again. — Good-by, sweetheart ! " said he ; 
Then sprang away. The baron's sword rang sharply on a tree, 
And quivered in the wood, as it had quivered in the head 
Of Ronald Clare, had he not then quick through the forest fled. 

The baron's heart was stern and sore as Elsie met his glance. 
"A brave knight, truly, you have won, who fears to break a 

lance 
For you! " he cried; "but, lass of mine, no more shall your fair 

face 
Shine on my warriors, thus to lure them from their rightfui 

place." 

So in the woman's tower she was kept both night and day. 
She saw afar the sunshine bright along the hilltops play ; 
She saw the brook go winding on among the meadows green; 
And oft, adown the road, she saw an armor's shining sheen. 



I08 A TRUE HERO. 

The hours grew to days and weeks. She saw the loom of years, 
As sad and silent, rising up, and wept love's burning tears ; 
And then from out the valley came a bugle's stirring call, 
And she could dimly hear the knights go clanking through the 
hall. 

And soon her maid came running in : " The king, the king, is 

here ! 
And he would see and speak to you : so fill your face with cheer, 
Your father bade me tell you come." And slowly Elsie went, 
With hope and fear in surging mass within her bosom blent. 

She reached the hall : a knight stood there, his armor bright with 

gold. 
His face safe hid beneath the bars of his dark visor's hold ; 
And when the baron took her hand, and led her where he stood. 
Her face gi:ew hot and brightly glowed, flushed by the rising 

blood. 

" My daughter, sire," the baron said : " Heaven's one best gift to 

me." 
The king bent low his armed head : " A queen indeed is she," 
He murmured low ; and then he cried, " I claim this lady fair ! " 
And, flinging up his visor, showed the face of Ronald Clare ! 

Anon. 



A TRUE HERO. 



It was in the gray of the early morning, in the sea- 
son of Lent. Broad Street, from Fort Hill to State 
Street, was crowded with hastening worshippers, atten- 
dants on early church. Maidens, matrons, boys and 
men jostled and hurried on toward the churches ; some 
with countenances sincerely sad, others with apparent 
attempts to nppear in accord with the sombre season \ 



A TRUE HERO. IO9 

while many thoughtless and careless ones joked and 
chatted, laughed and scuffled along in the hurrying 
multitude. Suddenly a passer-by noticed tiny wreaths 
and puffs of smoke starting from the shingles of the 
roof upon a large warehouse. The great structure stood 
upon the corner, silent, bolted, and tenantless ; and all 
the windows, save a small round light in the upper 
story, were closely and securely covered with heavy 
shutters. Scarcely had the smoke been seen by one, 
when others of the crowd looked up in the same direc- 
tion, and detected the unusual occurrence. Then others 
joined them, and still others followed, until a swelling 
multitude gazed upward to the roof over which the 
smoke soon hung like a fog ; while from eaves and 
shutter of the upper story little jets of black smoke 
burst suddenly out into the clear morning air. Then 
came a flash, like the lightning's glare, through the 
frame of the little gable window, and then another, 
brighter, ghastlier, and more prolonged. " Fire ! " 
" Fire ! " screamed the throng, as, moved by a single 
impulse, they pointed with excited gestures toward the 
window. Quicker than the time it takes to tell, the cry 
reached the corner, and was flashed on messenger wires 
to tower and steeple, engine and hose house, over the 
then half-sleeping city. Great bells with ponderous 
tongues repeated the cry with logy strokes, little bells 
with sharp and spiteful clicks recited the news ; while 
half-conscious firemen, watching through the long night, 
leaped upon engines and hose-carriages, and rattled 
into the street. 

Soon the roof of the burning warehouse was drenched 
with floods of water, poured upon it from the hose of 



no A TRUE HERO. 

many engines ; while the surging multitude in Broad 
Street had grown to thousands of excited spectators. 
The engines puffed and hooted, the engineers shouted, 
the hook-and-Iadder boys clambered upon roof and cor- 
nice, shattered the shutters and burst in the doors mak- 
ing way for the rescuers of merchandise and for the 
surging nozzles of availa^ble hose-pipe. But the wooden 
structure was a seething furnace throughout all its 
upper portion ; while water and ventilation seemed only 
to increase its power and fury. 

" Come down ! Come down ! Off that roof ! Come 
out of that building! " shouted an excited man in the 
crowd, struggling with all his power in the meshes of 
the solid mass of men, women, and children in the 
street. " Come down ! For God's sake come down ! 
The rear store is filled with barrels of powder ! " 

" Powder ! Powder ! " screamed the engineer 
through his trumpet. " Powder ! " shouted the horse 
men. " Powder ! " called the brave boys on roof and 
cornice. " Powder ! " answered the trumpet of tlie 
chief. "Powder!" "Powder!" "Powder!" echoed 
the menin the burning pile ; and from ladder, casement, 
wdndow, roof and cornice leaped terrified firemen with 
pale faces and terror-stricken limbs. 

" Push back the crowd ! " shouted the engineer. 
" Run for your lives ! Run ! run ! run ! " roared the 
trumjDets of the engineers. 

But, alas ! the crowd was dense and spread so far 
through cross streets and alleys, that away on the out- 
skirts, through the shouts of men, the whistling of the en- 
gines, and the roar of the heaven-piercing flames, the or- 
ders could not be heard. The frantic beings in front, 



A TRUE HERO. Ill 

understanding their danger, pressed wildly back. The 
firemen jDushed their engines and their carriages against 
the breasts of the crowd ; but the throng moved not. 
So densely packed was street and square, and so vari- 
ous and deafening the noises, that the army of excited 
spectators in the rear still pressed forward with irresist- 
ible force, unconscious of danger, and regarding any 
outcry as a mere ruse to disperse them for conven- 
ience' sake. The great mass swayed and heaved like 
waves of the sea ; but beyond the terrible surging of 
those in front, whose heart-rending screams half 
drowned the whistles there was no sign of retreat. As 
far as one could see, the streets were crowded with liv- 
ing human flesh and blood. 

" My God ! my God ! " said the engineer in despair. 
"What can be done? Lord have mercy on us all! 
What can be done ? " 

" What can be done ! I'll tell you what can be done," 
said one of Boston's firemen, whose hair was not yet 
.sprinkled with gray. "Yes, bri7ig out that powder! 
And I'm the man to do it. Better one man perish than 
perish all. Follow me with the water, and, if God lets 
me live long enough, I'll have it out." 

Perhaps as the hero rushed into the burning pile, into 
a darkness of smoke and a withering heat, he thought 
of the wife and children at home, of the cheeks he had 
kissed in the evening, of the cheerful good-by of the 
prattling ones, and the laugh as he gave the "last tag ; " 
for, as he rushed from the hoseman who tied the hand- 
kerchief over his mouth, he muttered, " God care for 
my little ones when I am gone." Away up through 
smoke and flame and cloud to the heights of heaven's 



112 CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD. 

throne, ascended that prayer, " God care for my little 
ones when I am gone," and the mighty Father and the 
loving Son heard the fireman's petition. 

Into the flame of the rear store rushed the hero, and, 
groping to the barrels, rolled them speedily into the 
alley, where surged the stream from the engines ; rush- 
ing back and forth with power superhuman, in the 
deepest smoke, when even the hoops which bound the 
powder-barrels had already parted with fire, and while 
deadly harpoons loaded to pierce the whales of the 
Arctic seas began to explode, and while iron darts 
flashed by him in all directions, penetrating the walls 
and piercing the adjacent buildings. But as if his he- 
roic soul was an arrfior-proof, or a charm impenetrable, 
neither harpoon nor bomb, crumbling timbers, nor show- 
ers of flaming brands, did him aught of injury, beyond 
the scorching of his hair and eyebrows, and the_ blis- 
tering of his hands and face. 'Twas a heroic deed. 
Did ever field of battle, wreck or martyrdom, show a 
braver? No act in all the list of song and story, no 
self-sacrifice in the history of the rise and fall of empires, 
was nobler than that, save one, and then the Son of God 
himself hung bleeding on the cross. — R, H. Coiiwell. 



CALDWELL OF SPRLNGFLELD. 

Here's the spot. Look around you. Above, on the height, 
Lay the Hessians encamped. By that church on the right 
Stood the gaunt Jersey farmers. And here ran a wall — 
You may dig anywhere and you'll turn up a ball. 



CALDWELL OF SPRINGFIELD. II3 

Nothing more. Grasses spring, waters run, flowers blow, 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 

Nothing more, did I say ? Stay, one moment ; you've heard 

Of Caldwell, the parson, who once preached the Word 

Down at Springfield ? What ! no .-* Come, that's bad ; why he 

had 
All the Jerseys aflame ! and they gave him the name 
Of " the rebel high priest." He stuck in their gorge, 
For he loved the Lord God, and he hated King George ! 

He had cause, you might say ! When the Hessians that day 
Marched up with Knyphausen, they stopped on their way 
At the " Farms," where his wife, wdth a child in her arms, 
Sat alone in the house. How it happened, none knew 
But God, and that one of the hireling crew 
Who fired the shot. Enough ! there she lay, 
And Caldwell, the chaplain, her husband, away! 

Did he preach — did he pray ? Think of him, as you stand 
By the old church, to-day; think of him, and that band 
Of militant plowboys ! See the smoke and the heat 
Of that reckless advance — of that straggling retreat ! 
Keep the ghost of that wife, foully slain, in your view — 
And what could you, what should you, what would you do ? 

Why, just what he did ! They were left in the lurch 
For the want of more wadding. He ran to the church, 
Broke the door, stripped the pews, and dashed out in the road 
With his arms full of hymn-books, and threw down his load 
At their feet ! Then, above all the shouting and shots, 
Rang his voice — " Put Watts into 'em, boys I give 'em Watts ! " 

And they did. That is all. Grasses spring, flowers blow, 
Pretty much as they did ninety-three years ago. 
You may dig anywhere and turn up a ball, 
But not always a hero like this — and that's all. 

Bref Harfe, 



114 THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS. 



THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS, 

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport, 
And one day, as his lions strove, sat looking on the court ; 
The nobles liird the benches round, the ladies by their side, 
And 'mongst them Count de Lorge, with one he hoped to make 

his bride : 
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show. 
Valor and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below. 

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws. 

They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with 

their paws ; 
With wallowing might and stiiled roar they rolled one on another 
Till all the pit, with sand and n-iane, was in a thund'rous smother ; 
The bloody foam above the bars came whizzing through the air ; 
Said Francis then, " Good gentlemen, we're better here than 

there ! " 

De Lorge's love o'erheard the king — a beauteous, lively dame, 
With smiling lips, and sharp bright eyes, which always scem'd 

the same : 
She thought, " The Count, my lover, is as brave as brave can be ,• 
He surely would do desperate things to show his love of me ! 
King, ladies, lovers, all look on ; the chance is wondrous fine ; 
I'll drop my glove to prove his Icve ; great gloiy will be mine ! " 

She dropp'd her glove to prove his love : then looked on him and 

smiled ; 
He bowed, and in a moment leaped among the lions wild ! 
The' leap was quick; return was quick; he soon regained his 

place ; 
Then threw the glove, but not with love, right in the lady's face I 
" Well done ! " cried Francis, " bravely done ! " and he rose from 

where he sat • 
" No love," quoth he, " but vanity, sets love a task like that I " 

Lcix^i Hunt. 



JESSIE BROWN AT LUCKNOW. 1 15 



JESSIE BROWN AT L UCKNO IV. 

O'er Lucknow's wall bursts war's red thunder storm, 
Round Lucknow's wall infuriate demons swarm ; 
Lucknow, with men where tender women share 
The siege's horrors, battling 'gainst despair ; 
Where a brave few 'gainst baffled myriads strive, 
Sworn not to yield, while but one man survive ! 
Fell hunger wastes their strength ; nearer, each day 
The deadly mine works its insidious way ; — 
On all sides Death stares in their doomed eyes, 
Still each with each in patient courage vies : — 
A few hours more must end their agonies ! 

A Scottish lassie, sair wi' toil oppressed, 
Wrapt in her plaid, sinks down, worn out, to rest, 
And says, with mind half -crazed, "Pray call me now, 
As soon as Father comes home from the plough." 
By night and day, with rare, unwearied zeal, 
She's cheered the soldiers, brought their scanty meal, 
Borne orders to the walls, the wounded nursed. 
With words of comfort slaked their dying thirst : — 
Now, lies she hushed amid the battle's din, 
And sleeps, as if on earth there were no sin ! 
In dreams she wanders o'er her native hills, 
Lured by the strain that Scotia's children thrill j; 
And, as the much-loved notes all faintly rise, 
They seem an angel-whisper from the skies ! 
Sudden, she starts from sleep, throws up her arnu. 
And listens, eager, through the war's alarms ! 
What new-born transport lights her sunken eye, 
Flushing her pallid cheek with ecstasy? 
Entranced awhile she stands, like one inspired. 
Then, wild, as if by sudden frenzy fired, 
" We're saved ! " she cries ; " we're saved ! It is nae dream 
The Highland slogan ! listen to its scream ! "— 



Il6 JESSIE BROWN AT LUCKXOW. ' 

Then to the batteries with swift step she ran, 

And, in a tone that thrills each drooping man, 

" Courage ! " she cries, " Heav'n sends us help at last, 

Hark to M'Gregor's slogan on the blast ! " 

The soldiers cease their fire ; all hold their breath, 

Spell-bound and fixed, a pause of life or death ! 

Each nerve they strain, to catch the promised sound, — 

In vain ! The red artillery thunders round ; 

Naught else ! Still Jessie cries in accents clear — 

" The slogan's ceased ; but, hark ! dinna ye hear 

The Campbell's pibroch swell upon the breeze ? 

They're coming ! hark ! " — then, falling on her knees, 

" We're saved ! " she cries, "we're saved ! Oh, thanks to God 

And, fainting, sinks upon the blood-stained sod. 

'Tis no girl's dream ; for, swelling on the gale, 
M'Gregor's pibroch pours its piercing wail ; 
That shrill, that thrilling sound, half threat, half woe, 
Speaks life to us, destruction to the foe ; 
Loud and more loud it grows, till strong and clear, 
" Should auld acquaintance " rings upon the ear : 
By solemn impulse moved, the whole host there. 
Bowed in the dust, and breathed a silent prayer ; 
Poured out their thanks to God in grateful tears ; 
Then sprang to arms, and rent the air with cheers ; 
The loyal English cheer *' God save the Queen,'' 
The bagpipes answered with " For auld lang syne ! " 
The Seventy-eighth it is ! the gallant band 
Brings news that Havelock is close at hand, — 
The chief that never failed in hour of need, 
Patient and sure, faithful in word and deed ! 
With glad embraces, saved and saviours meet, 
Long parted comrades, comrades gayly greet ; 
From every lip, on Jessie blessings pour, 
Sib'-l of hope, and heroine of the hour! 

G. Vande)ihoff. 



THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEN. 11/ 



THE BATTLE OF AIORGARTEN. 

The wine-month shone in its golden prime, and the 
red grapes clustering hung ; but a deeper sound, through 
the Switzer's clime, than the vintage music rung ; — a 
sound, through vaulted cave, — a sound, through echoing 
glen, like the hollow swell of a rushing wave — 'twas 
the tread of steelgirt men ! And a trumpet, pealing 
wild and far, 'mid the ancient rocks was blown, till the 
Alps replied to that voice of war with a thousand of 
their own. And through the forest glooms flashed hel- 
mets to the day ; and the winds were tossing knightly 
plumes like pine boughs in their play. In Hash's wilds 
there was gleaming steel, as the host of the Austrian 
passed ; and the Schreckhorn's rocks, with a savage 
peal, made mirth at the clarion's blast. Up 'midst the 
Righi snows the stormy march was heard ; with the 
charger's tramp, whence fire-sparks rose, and the 
leader's gathering word. 

But a band — the noblest band of all — through the 
rude Morgarten strait, with blazoned streamers and 
lances tall, moved onwards in princely state. They 
came with heavy chains for the race despised so long — 
but amidst his Alp domams, the herdsman's arm is 
strong! The sun was reddening the clouds of morn 
when they entered the rock defile, and shrill as a joy- 
ous hunter's horn their bugles rung the while , but, on 
the misty height, where the mountain people stood, 
there was stillness, as of night, when storms at distance 
brood. There was stillness, as of deep, dead night, 



Il8 THE BATTLE OF MORGARTEX. 

and a pause — but not of fear — ^vhile the Switzers gazed 
on the gathering might of the hostile shield and spear. 
On wound these columns bright, between the lake and 
wood ; but they looked not to the misty height, where 
the mountain people stood. The pass was filled with 
their serried power, all helmed and mail-arrayed ; and 
their steps had sounds like a thunder-shower in the 
rustling forest shade. There were prince and crested 
knight hemmed in by cliff and flood, .... when a 
shout arose from the misty height, where the mountain 
people stood ! And the mighty rocks come bounding 
down, their startled foes among, with a joyous whirl 
from the summit thrown — oh, the herdsman's arm is 
strong ! Like hunters of the deer, they stormed the 
narrow dell ; and first in the shock, with Uri's spear, 
was the arm of Willian Tell ! Oh, the sun in Heaven 
fierce havoc viewed, when the Austrian turned to fly ; 
and the brave, in the trampling multitude, had a fearful 
death to die ! And the leader of the war at eve un- 
helmed was seen, with a hurrying step on the wilds 
afar, and a pale and troubled mien. But the sons of 
the land which the freeman tills went back from the 
battle toil, to their cabin homes, 'mid the deep green 
hills, all burthened with royal spoil. There were songs 
and festal fires on the soaring Alps thai night, when 
children sprang to meet their sires, from the wild Mor- 
garten fight ! — Mrs. Hemans. 



HERVE KIEL. 



HERVE KIEL. 



On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, 

Did the English fight the French — woe to France ! 
And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, 
Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks pursue, 
Came crowding ship on ship to St. Malo on the Ranee, 
With the English fleet in view. 
'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase, 
First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville, 
Close on him fled, great and small. 
Twenty-two good ships in all ; 
And they signaled to the place, 
" Help the winners of a race 1 
Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick — or, quicker 
still, 

Here's the English can and will ! " 
Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leaped on board ; 
" Whv, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" 
laughed they ; 
'"* Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred and 

scored, 
Shall the ' Formidable ' here, with her twelve and ei^uhty guns, 

Think to make the river-mouth by the single narrow way, 
Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons. 
And with flow at fall beside ? 
Now 'tis slackest ebb of tide. 
Reach the mooring ! Rather say, 
While rock stands or water runs, 
Not a ship will leave the bay ! " 
Then was called a council straight ; 
Brief and bitter the debate ; 
" Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in 

tow 
All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, 



I20 HERVE KIEL. 

For a prize to Plymouth sound ? — 
Better run the ships aground ! " 

(Ended Damfreville his speech), 
" Not a minute more to wait ! 
Let the captains all and each 
Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the beach ! 
France must undergo her fate. 
Give the word ! " — But no such word 
Was ever spoke or heard ; 
For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck amid all these — 
A captain ? A lieutenant ? A mate — first, second, third ? 
No such man of mark, and meet 
With his betters to compete ! 
But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet — 

A poor coasting pilot he, Herve Riel the Croisickese. 
And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Herve 
Riel; 
" Are you mad, you Malouins ? Are you cowards, fools or 
rogues ? 
Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell 
On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 

'Twixt the offing here and Greve, where the river disembogues ; 
Are you bought by English gold ? Is it love the lying's for ? 
Morn and eve, night and day. 
Have I piloted your bay, 
Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 

Burn the fleet and ruin France ? That were worse than fifty 

Hogues ! 
Sirs, they know I speak the truth ! Sirs, believe me, there's a 
way ! 

Only let me lead the line, 

Have the biggest ship to steer, 
Get this ' Formidable ' clear, 
Make the others follow mine. 
And I lead them most and least by a passage I know well, 
Right to Solidor, past Greve, 

And there lay them safe and sound ; 
And if one ship misbehave — 



HERVE KIEL. 121 

Keel so much as grate the ground — 
Why, I've nothing but my I'fe ; here's my head ! " cries Herve 
Kiel. 

Not a minute more to wait ! 
" Steer us in, then, small and great ! 
Take the helm, lead the line, save the squadron ! " cried its chief, 
" Captains, give the sailor place ! 

He is admiral, in brief." 
Still the north wind, by God's grace ; 
See the noble fellow's face 
As the big ship, with a bound, 
Clears the entry like a hound, 
Keeps the passage as its inch of way were the wide sea's pro- 
found ! 

See, safe through shoal and rock, 
How they follow in a flock ! 
Not a ship that misbehaves, not a keel that grates the ground, 
Not a spar that comes to grief ! 
The peril, see, is past. 
All are harbored to the last, 
And just as Herve Riel hollas " Anchor ! " — sure as fate. 
Up the English come, too late. 
So the storm subsides to calm ; 
They see the green trees wave 
On the heights o'erlooking Greve ; 
Hearts that bled are stanched with balm. 
" Just our rapture to enhance. 

Let the English rake the bay. 
Gnash their teeth and glare askance 
As they cannonade away ! 
'Neath rampired Solidor pleasant riding on the Ranee !" 
Now hope succeeds despair on each captain's countenance ! 
Out burst all with one accord, 
" This is Paradise for hell ! 
Let France, let France's king, 
Thank the man that did the thing ! " 
What a shout, and all one word, 
" Herve Riel ! " 



122 HERVE KIEL. 

As he stepped in front once more, 
Not a symptom of surprise 
In the frank blue Breton eyes — 
Just the same man as before. 
Then said Damfreville, " My friend, 
I must speak out at the end, 

Though I find the speaking hard ; 
Praise is deeper than the Hps, 
You have saved the king his ships, 

You must name your own reward. 
Faith, our sun was near eclipse ! 
Demand whate'er you will, 
France remains your debtor still. 
Ask to heart's content, and have ! or my name's not Damfreville." 
Then a beam of fun outbroke 
On the bearded mouth that spoke. 
As the honest heart laughed through 
Those frank eyes of Breton blue : 
*' Since I needs must say my say, 
Since on board the duty's done, 
And from Malo Roads to Croisic Point, what is it but a run ? — 
Since 'tis ask and have, I may — 

Since the others go ashore — 
Come! A good whole holiday! 
Leave to go and see my wife, whom I call the Belle Aurore ! " 

That he asked, and that he got — nothing more. 
Name and deed alike are lost ; 
Not a pillar nor a post 
In his Croisic keeps alive the feat as it befell ; 
Not a head in white and black 
On a single fishing-smack, 
In memory of the man but for whom had gone to wrack 

All that France saved from the fight whence England bore the 
bell. 

Go to Paris ; rank on rank 

Search the heroes flung pell-mell 
On the Louvre, face and flank ; 
You shall look long enough ere vou come to Ilerve Riel. 



THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 1 23 

So, for better and for worse, 
Herve Riel, accept 1113^ verse ! 
In mv verse, Herve Riel, do thou once more 
Save the squadron, honor France, love thy wife, the Belle Aurore ! 

Robert J^rowning. 



THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 

Come hither, Evan Cameron, come, stand beside my knee — 

I hear the river roaring down towards the wintry sea. 

There's shouting on the mountain-side, there's war within the 
blast ; 

Old faces look upon me, old forms go trooping past. 

I hear the pibroch wailing amidst the din of fight, 

And my dim spirit wakes again upon the verge of night. 

'Twas I that led the Highland host through wild Lochaber's 
snows, 

What time the plaided clans came down to battle with Montrose. 

I'ye told thee how the Southrons fell beneath the broad clay- 
more, 

And how we smote the Campbell clan by Inverlochy's shore. 

I've told thee how we swept Dundee, and tamed the Lindsay's 
pride ; 

But never have I told thee yet how the great Marquis died. 
A traitor sold him to his foes ; oh, deed of deathless shame ! 

I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet with one of Assynt's name — 

Be it upon the mountain's side, or yet within the glen. 

Stand he in martial gear alone, or backed by armed men — 

Face him, as thou wouldst face the man who wrong'd thy sire's 
renown ; 

Remember of what blood thou art, and strike the caitiff down ! 
They brought him to the Watergate, hard bound with hempen 
span, 

As though they held a lion there, and not a 'fenceless man. 



124 THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 

They set him high upon a cart — the hangman rode below — 
They drew his hands behind his back, and bared his noble brow. 
Then, as a hound is slipp'd from leash, they cheer'd the common 

throng. 
And blew the note with yell and shout, and bade him pass along. 
It would have made a brave man's heart grow sad and sick 

that day, 
To watch the keen malignant eyes bent down on that array .... 
But when he came, though pale and wan, he looked so great and 

high. 
So noble was his manly front, so calm his steadfast eye, 
The rabble rout forbore to shout, and each man held his breath, 
For well they knew the hero's soul was face to face with death. 

But onward — always onward, in silence and in gloom. 
The dreary pageant labored, till it reached the house of doom. 
Then, as the Grseme looked upwards, he saw the ugly smile 
Of him who sold his King for gold — the master-fiend, Argyie ! 
And a Saxon soldier cried aloud, " Back, coward, from thy place ! 
For seven long years thou hast not dared to look him in the face." 

Had I been there, with sword in hand, and fifty Camerons by, 
That day through high Dunedin's streets had peal'd the slogan- 
cry; 
Not all their troops of trampling horse, nor might of mailed men, 
Not all the rebels in the South had borne us backwards then ! 
Once more his foot on Highland heath had trod as free as air, 
Or I, and all who bore my name, been laid around him there ! 

It might not be. They placed him next within the solemn hall, 
Where once the Scottish kings were throned amidst their nobles 

all. 
With savage glee came Warristoun to read the murderous doom ; 
And then uprose the great Montrose in the middle of the room. 
" Now, by my faith as belted knight, and by the name I bear. 
And by the bright^ Saint Andrew's cross that waves above us 

there, 
I have not sought in battle-field a wreath of such renown, 
Nor dared I hope on my dying day to win the martyr's crown ! 
There is a chamber far away, where sleep the good and brave, 
But a better place ye have named for me, than by my father's 

grave ; 



THE EXECUTION OF MONTROSE. 1 25 

For truth and right, 'gainst treason's might, this hand hath always 
striven. 

And ye raise it up for a witness still, in the eye of earth and 
heaven. 

Then nail my head on yonder tower — give every town a limb — 

And God, who made, shall gather them ; I go from you to Him !'' 
Ah, boy ! that ghastly gibbet ! how dismal 'tis to see 

The great, tall, spectral skeleton, the ladder and the tree ! 

Hark, hark ! it is the clash of arms — the bells begin to toll — 

" He is coming ! he is coming! God's mercy on his soul !" 

There was color in his visage, though the cheeks of all were wan, 

And they marvell'd as they saw him pass, that great and goodly 
man ! 
He mounted up the scaffold, and he turned him to the crowd ! 

But they dared not trust the people, so he might not speak aloud. 

But he looked upon the heavens, and they were clear and blue, 

And in the liquid ether the eye of God shone through ! 

Yet a black and murky battlement lay resting on the hill, 

As though the thunder slept within — all else was calm and still. 
The grim Geneva ministers with anxious scowl drew near, 

As you have seen the ravens flock around the dying deer. 

He would not deign them word nor sign, but alone he bent the 
knee ; 

And veil'd his face for Christ's dear grace, beneath the gallows- 
tree. 

Then radiant and serene he rose, and cast his cloak away ; 

For he had ta'en his latest look of earth and sun and day. 
A beam of light fell o'er him, like a glory round the shriven, 

And he climb'd the lofty ladder, as it were the path to heaven. 

Then came a flash from out the cloud, and a stunning thunder 
roll ; 

And no man dared to look aloft, for fear was oneverj' soul. 

There was another heavy sound, a hush, and then a groan ; 

And darkness swept across the sky — the work of death was done 

Aytonn. 



126 THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG. 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG, 

From the Atlantic Monthly. 

Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet, 
His chestnut steed with four white feet, 

Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, 
Son of the road and bandit chief, 
Seeking refuge and relief, 

Up the mountain pathway flew. 

Such was Kyrat's matchless speed 
Never yet could any steed 

Reach the dust-cloud in his course ; 
More than maiden, more than wife, 
More than gold and next to life, 

Roushan the Robber loved his horse. 

In the land that lies beyond 
Erizoom and Trel)izond, 

Garden-girt, his fortress stood ; 
Plundered khan, or caravan 
Journeying north from Koordistan, 

Gave him wealth and wine and food. 

Seven hundred and fourscore 
Men-at-arms his livery wore, 

Did his bidding night and day ; 
Now through regions all unknown 
He was wandering, lost, alone, 

Seeking, without guide, his way. 

Suddenly the pathway ends, 
Sheer the precipice descends, 

Loud the torrent roars unseen ; 
Thirty feet from side to side 
Yawns the chasm ; on air must ride 

lie who crosses this ravine. 



THE LEAP OF ROUSHAN BEG. 12/ 

Following close in his pursuit, 
At the precipice's foot, 

Reyhan the Arab of Orfah 
Halted with his hundred men, 
Shouting upward from the glen, 

" La il Allah ! Allah-la ! " 

Gently Roushan Beg caressed 
Kyrat's forehead, neck, and breast ; 

Kissed him upon both his eyes ; 
Sang to him in his wild way, 
As upon the topmost spray 

Sings a bird before it flies. 

" Oh, my Kyrat, oh, my steed, 
Round and slender as a reed. 

Carry me this danger through ! 
Satin housings shall be thine, 
Shoes of gold, oh, Kyrat mine ! 
Oh, thou soul of Kurroglou I 

" Soft thy skin as silken skein, 
Soft as woman's hair thy mane, 

Tender are thine eyes and true 
All thy hoofs like ivory shine, 
Polished bright. Oh, life of mine. 

Leap and rescue Kurroglou I " 

Kyrat then, the strong and fleet, 
Drew together his four white feet, 

Paused a moment on the verge, 
Measured Anth his eye the space. 
And into the air's embrace 

Leaped, as leaps the ocean surge. 

As the surge o'er silt and sand 
Bears a swimmer safe to land, 

Kyrat safe his rider bore ; 
Rattling down the deep abyss. 
Fragments of the precipice 

Rolled like pebbles on a shore. 



28 IN THE TUNNEL. 

Roushan's tasselled czp of red 
Trembled not upon his head ; 

Careless sat he and upright ; 
Neither hand nor bridle shook, 
Nor his head he turned to look, 

As he galloped out of sight. 

Flash of harness in the air, 
Seen a moment, like the glare 

Of a sword drawn from its sheath ! 
Thus the phantom horseman passed ; 
And the shadow that he cast 

Leaped the cataract underneath. 

Reyhan the Arab held his breath 
While this vision of life and death 

Passed above him. " Allah-hu ! " 
Cried he ; " in all Koordistan 
Breathes there not so brave a man 

As this robber Kurroglou ! " 

Henry W. Longfellow, 



IN THE TUNNEL, 

Didn't know Flynn — 
Flynn of Virginia, 
Long as he's been 'yar t 
Look 'ee here, stranger, 

Whar hev you been .'' 

Here in this tunnel 
He was my pardner. 

That same Tom Flynn, — 
Working together, 
In wind and weather, 

Day out and in. 



IN THE TUNNEL. 

Didn't know Flynn ! 

Well, that IS queer ; 
Why, it's a sin 
To think of Tom Flynn, — 

Tom with his cheer, 

Tom without fear, — 

Stranger, look 'yar ! 

Thar in the drift, 

Back to the wall, 
He held the timbers 

Ready to fall ; 
Then in the darkness . 

I heard him call : 
" Run for your life, Jake I 
Run for your wife's sake I 

Don't wait for me." 
And that was all 

Heard in the din, 

Heard of Tom Flynn, — 

Flynn of Virginia. 

That's all about 

Flynn of Virginia. 
That lets me out. 

Here in the damp, — 
Out of the sun, — 

That 'ar derned lamp 
Makes my eyes run. 
Well, there, — Fm done ! 

But, sir, when you'll 
Hear the next fool 

Asking of Flynn, — 
Flynn of Virginia, — 

Just you chip in. 

Say you knew Flynn ; 
Say that you've been 'var. 

Bret Harte. 



129 



130 SUPPORTING THE GUNS. 

SUPPORTING THE GUNS. 

ONE OF THE HORRORS OF WAR VIVIDLY DESCRIBED. 

Did you ever see a battery take position ? 

It hasn't the thrill of a cavalry charge, nor the grim- 
ness of a line of bayonets moving slowly and determin- 
edly on, but there is a peculiar excitement about it that 
makes old veterans rise in the saddle and cheer. 

We have been fighting at the edge of the woods. 
Every cartridge-box has been emptied once and more, 
and a fourth of the brigade has melted away in dead and 
wounded and missing. Not a cheer is heard in the 
whole brigade. We know that we are being driven 
foot by foot, and that when we break back once more 
the line will go to pieces and the enemy will pour 
through the gap. 

Here comes help ! 

Down the crowded highway gallops a battery, with- 
drawn from some other position to save ours. The field 
fence is scattered while you could count thirty, and the 
guns rush for the hill behind us. Six horses to a piece 
— three riders to each gun. Over dry ditches where a 
farmer would not drive a wagon ; through clumps of 
bushes, over logs a foot thick, every horse on the gallop, 
every rider lashing his team and yelling — the sight be- 
hind us makes us forget the foe in front. The guns 
jump two feet high as the heavy wheels strike rock or 
log, but not a horse slackens his pace, not a cannoneer 
loses his seat. Six guns, six caissons, sixty horses, 



SUPPORTING TPIE GUNS. 131 

eighty men race for the brow of the hill as if he -vvho 
reached it first was to be knighted. 

A moment ago the battery was a confused mob* We 
look again and the six guns are in position, the detached 
horses hurrying away, the ammunition-chests open, and 
along: our line runs the command : ^' Give them one 
more volley and fall back to support the guns ! " We 
have scarcely obeyed when boom ! boon; ! boom ! opens 
the battery, and jets of fire jump down and scorch the 
green trees under which we fought and despaired. 

The shattered old. brigade has a chance to breathe 
for the first time in three hours as we form a line of 
battle behind the guns and lie down. What grim, cool 
fellows these cannoneers are. Every man is a perfect 
machine. Bullets plash dust in their faces, but they do 
not wince. Bullets sing over and around them, but they 
do not dodge. There goes one to the earth, shot 
through the head as he sponged his gun. The machin- 
ery loses just one beat — misses just one cog in the 
wheel, and then works away again as before. 

Every gun Is using short-fuse shell. The ground 
shakes and trembles — the roar shuts out all sounds 
from a battle-line three miles long, and the shells go 
shrieking into the swamp to cut trees short oft" — to mow 
great gaps in the bushes — to hunt out and shatter and 
mangle men until their corpses cannot be recognized as 
human. You would think a tornado was howling 
through the forest, followed by billow^s of fire, and yet 
men live through it — aye ! press forward to capture the 
battery ! We can hear their shouts as they form for 
the rush. 

Now the shells are changed for grape and canister, 



132 SUPPORTING THE GUXS. 

and the guns are served so fast that all reports blend 
into one mighty roar. The shriek of a shell is the wick- 
edest sound in war, but nothing makes the flesh crawl 
like the demoniac singing, purring, whistling grape-shot 
and the serpent-like hiss of canister. Men's legs and 
arms are not shot through, but torn off. Heads are 
torn from bodies and bodies cut in two, A round shot 
or shell takes two men out of the ranks as it crashes 
through. Grape and canister mow a swath and pile the 
dead on top each other. 

Through the smoke we see a swarm of men. It is 
not a battle line, but a mob of men desperate enough 
to bathe their bayonets in the flame of the guns. The 
guns leap from the ground, almost as they are depressed 
on the foe, and shrieks and screams and shouts blend 
into one awful and steady cry. Twenty men out of the 
battery are down, and the firing is interrupted. The 
foe accepts it as a sign of wavering, and come rushing 
on. They are not ten feet away when the guns give 
them a last shot. That discharge picks living men off 
iheir feet and throws them into the swamp, a blackened, 
bloody mass. 

Up now, as the enemy are among the guns ! There 
is a silence of ten seconds, and then the flash and roar 
of more than 3000 muskets, and a rush forward with 
bayonets. For what ? Neither on the right, nor left, 
nor in front of us is a living foe ! There are corpses 
around us which have been struck by three, four and 
even six bullets, and nowhere on this acre of ground is 
a wounded man 1 The wheels of the guns cannot move 
until the blockade of dead is removed. Men cannot 
pass from caisson to gun without clin-ibing over winrows 



PHIL blood's leap. 1 33 

of dead. Every gun and wheel is smeared with blood 
— every foot of grass has its horrible stain. 

Historians write of the glory of war. Burial parties 
saw murder where historians saw glory. — Detroit Free 
Press, 



PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 

A TALE OF THE GOLD-SEEKERS. 

" There's some think Injins pison. ..." [It was Parson Pete 

that spoke, 
As we sat there, in the camp-fire glare, like shadows among the 

smoke. 
'Twas the dead of night, and in the light our faces shone bright 

red, 
And the wind all round made a screeching sound and the pines 

roared overhead. 
Aye, Parson Pete was talking : we called him Parson Pete, 
For you must learn he'd a talking turn, and handled things so 

- neat : 
He'd a preaching style, and a winning smile, and when all talk 

was spent. 
Six-shooter had he, and a sharp bowie, to point his argument. 

Some one had spoke of the Injin folk, and we had a guess, you 

bet, 
They might be creeping, while we were sleeping, to catch us in 

the net ; 
And the half asleep were snoring deep, while the others vigil 

kept, 
But devil a one let go his gun, whether he woke or slept.) 

" There's some think Injins pison, and others fancy 'em scum. 
And most would slay them out of the way, clean into Kingdom 
Come ; 



134 PHIL BLOOD S LEAP. 

But don't you go and make mistakes, like many dern'd fools I've 

known, 
For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but an Injin's flesh and 

bone." 

We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, and we'd had a blaze of 

luck, 
More rich and rare the stuff ran there at every foot we struck ; 
Like men gone wild we toiled and toiled, and never seemed to 

tire, 
The hot sun glared, and our faces flared, with the greed o' gain, 

like fire. 

I was Captain then of the mining men, and I had a precious life, 

For a wilder set I never met at derringer and at knife ; 

Nigh every day there was some new fray, and a shot in some one's 

brain. 
And the cussedest sheep in all the heap was an Imp of Sin from 

Maine — 

Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, with a squint to make 

you skeer'd, 
His face all scabb'd, and twisted and stabb'd, with carroty hair 

and beard. 
Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, sharp as a grizzly's squeal. 
Limp in one leg, for a leaden egg had nick'd him in the heel. 

He was the primest workman there ! — 'twas a sight to see him 

toil! 
To the waist all bare, all devil and dare, the sweat on his cheeks 

like oil ; 
With pickaxe and spade in sun and shade he labor'd like darna- 

tion. 
But when his spell was over — well ! he liked recreation. 

And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only sport he had 
When work was over seemed to us a bit too rough and bad : 



PHIL BLOOD S LEAP. 1 35 

For to put some lead in a fellow's head was the greatest fun in 

life, 
And the only joke he liked to poke was the point of his precious 

knife. 

But game to the bone was Phil, I'll own, and he always fought 

most fair, 
With as good a will to be killed as kill, true grit as any there : 
Of honor, too, like me or you, he'd a scent, though not so keen, 
Would rather be riddled thro' and thro', than do what he thought 

mean. 

But his eddication, to his ruination, had not been over-nice. 
And his stupid skull was choking full of vulgar prejudice ; 
For a white man he was an ekal, free to be fought in open fray. 
But an Injin a snake (make no mistake) to scotch in any way. 

" A sarpent's hide has pison inside, and an Injin heart's as bad — 
He'll seem your friend for to gain his end, but they hate the white 

like mad ; 
Woree than the least of bird or beast, never at peace till dead. 
A spotted snake, and no mistake ! " that's what he always said, 

Well, we'd jest struck our bit of luck, and were wild as raving 

men. 
When who should stray to camp one da}^ but Black Panther, the 

Cheyenne ; 
Brest like a Christian, all a-grin, the old one joins our band, 
And tho' the rest look'd black as sin, he shakes me by the hand. 

Now the poor old cuss had been known to us, and I knew that 

he was true — 
I'd have trusted him with life ai\d limb as soon as I'd XxwsX yoit ; 
For tho' his wit was gone a bit, and he drank like any fish, 
His heart was kind, he was well inclined as even a white could 

wish. 

Food had got low, for we didn't know the run of the hunting- 
ground, 

And our hunters were sick, when, just in the nick, the friend in 
need was found ; 



136 PHIL blood's leap. 

For he knew the place like his mother's face (or better, a heap, 
you'd say, 

Since she was a squaw of the roaming race, and himself a cast- 
away). 

Well, I took the Panther into camp, and the critter was well con- 
tent, 

And off with him, on the hunting tramp, next day our party went ; 

And I reckon that day and the next we didn't hunger for food, 

And only one in the camp look'd vext — that Imp of Sin — Phil 
Blood. 

Nothing would please his contrairy idees ! an Injin made him 

boil ! 
But he said nought, and his scowling wrought from morn till 

night at his toil. 
And I knew his skin \vas hatching sin, and I kept the Panther 

apart, 
For the Injin he was too weak to see the depths of a white man's 

heart ! 

One noon-day when myself and the men were resting by the creek, 
The red sun blazed, and we lay half dazed, too tired to stir or 

speak , 
'Neath the alder trees we stretched at ease, and we couldn't see 

the sky. 
For the lian-flowers in bright blue showers hung through the 

branches high. 

It was like the gleam of a fairy-dream, and I felt like earth's first 

Man, 
In an Eden bower with the yellow flower of a cactus for a fan ; 
Oranges, peaches, grapes and figs cluster'd, ripen'd and fell. 
And the cedar scent was pleasant, blent with the soothing 'cacia 

smell. 

The squirrels red ran overhead, and I saw the lizards creep, 
And the woodpecker bright with the chest so white tapt like a 

sound in sleep ; 



PHIL BLOOD S LEAP. I37 

I lay and dozed with eyes half closed, and felt like a three-year 

child, 
And, a plantain blade on his brow for a shade, even Phil Blood 

look'd mild. 

Well, back jest then came our hunting men, with the Panther at 
their head, 

Full of his fun was every one, and the Panther's eyes were red. 

And he skipt about with grin and shout, for he'd had a drop that 
day. 

And he twisted and twirled, and squeal'd and skirl'd, in the fool- 
ish Injin way. 

To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, with only his knife in 

his belt. 
And I saw his bloodshot eye-balls flare, and I knew how fierce he 

felt. 
When the Injin dances with grinning glances around him as he 

lies, 
With his painted skin and his monkey grin — and leers into his eyes. 

Then before I knew what I should do Phil Blood was on his 
feet. 

And the Injin could trace the hate in his face, and his heart be- 
gan to beat, 

And " Get out o' the way," he heard them say, " for he means to 
hev your life ! " 

But before he could fly at the warning cry, he saw the flash of 
the knife. 

" Run, Panther, run ! " cried every one, and the Panther took 

the track. 
With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, Phil Blood sprang at 

his back. 
Up the side so steep of the canon deep the poor old critter sped. 
And after him ran the devil's limb till they faded overhead. 

Now the spot of ground where our luck was found was a queer- 

ish place, you'll mark. 
Jest under the jags of the mountain crags and the precipices dark, 



138 PHIL blood's leap. 

And the water drove from a fall above, and roared both day and 

night, 
And those that waded beneath were shaded by crags to left and 

right. 

Far up on high, close to the sky, the two crags leant together, 
Leaving a gap like an open trap, with a gleam of golden weather, 
And now and then when at work the men lookt up they caught 

the bounds 
Of the deer that leap from steep to steep, and they seemed the 

size o' hounds. 

A pathway led from the deck's dark bed up to the crags on high, 
And up that path the Injin fled, fast as a man could fly. 
Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep the white cuss back ; 
But I missed my man, and away he ran on the flying Injin's track. 

Now all below is thick, you know, with 'cacia, alder and pine, 
And the bright shrubs deck the side of the beck, and the lian- 

flowers so fine. 
For the forests creeps all under the steeps, and feathers the feet 

of the crags 
With boughs so thick that your path you pick, like a steamer 

among the snags. 

But right above you, the crags, Lord love you ! are bare as this 

here hand. 
And your eyes you wink at the bright blue chink, as looking up 

you stand. 
If a man should pop in that trap at the top, he'd never rest hand 

or leg, 
Till neck and crop to the bottom he'd drop — and smash on the 

stones like an egg ! 

Now the breadth of the trap, tho' it seemed so small from the 

place below, d'ye see, 
Was what a deer could easily clear, but a man — well, not for ifze ! 
And it happened, yes ! the path, I guess, led straight to that there 

place. 
And if one of the two didn't leap it, whew ! they must meet there 

face to face. 



PHIL BLOODS LEAP, 1 39 

" Come back, you cuss ! come back to us ! and let the critter be ! " 
I screamed out loud, while the men in a crowd stood gazing at 

them and me ; 
But up they went, and my shots were spent, and I shook as they 

disappeared — 
One minute more and we gave a roar, for the Injin had leapt — 

and cleared! 

A leap for a deer, not a man, to clear — and the bloodiest grave 

below ! 
But the critter was smart, and m.ad with fear, and he went like a 

bolt from a bow ! 
Close after him came the devil's limb, with his eyes as wild as 

death. 
But when he came to the gulch's brim I reckon he paused for 

breath ! 

For breath at the brink ! but — a white man shrink, when a red 
had passed so neat ? 

I knew Phil Blood too well to think he'd turn his back dead beat ! 

He takes one run, leaps up in the sun, and bounds from the slip- 
pery ledge, 

And he clears the hole, but — God help his soul ! just touches the 
other edge ! 

One scrambling fall, one shriek, one call from the men that stand 

and stare — 
Black in the blue where the sky looks diro', he staggers, dwarf'd 

up there ; 
The edge he touches, then sinks, and clutches the rock — my eyes 

grow dim — 
I turn away — what's that thev say ? — he's a-hanging on to the 

brim ! 

. . . On the very brink of the fatal chink a wild thin shrub there 

grew. 
And to that he clung, and in silence swung betwixt us and the 

blue, 



140 PHIL blood's leap. 

And as soon as a man could run I ran the way I'd seen them flee. 
And I came mad-eyed to the chasm's side, and — what do you 
think I see ? 

All up ? Not quite. vStill hanging ? Right ! But he'd torn 

away the shrub ; 
With lolling tongue he clutch'd and swung — to what ? aye, that's 

the rub ! 
I saw him glare and dangle in air — for the empty hole he trode — 
Help'd by z.pair of hands up there ! The Injin's ? Yes, by 1 

Now, boys, look here ! for many a year I've roughed in this here 

land. 
And many a sight both day and night I've seen that I think 

grand ; 
Over the whole wide world I've been, and I know both things and 

men. 
But the biggest sight I've ever seen was the sight I saw just then. 

I held my breath — so nigh to death the cuss swung hand and 

limb, 
And it seem'd to me that down he'd flee, with the Panther after 

him : 
But the Injin at length puts out his strength, and another minute 

past, 
And safe and sound to the solid ground he drew Phil Blood at 

last! 

Saved .? True for you ! By an Injin too ! — and the man he meant 

to kill ! 
There all alone, on the brink of stone, I see them standing still ; 
Phil Blood gone white, with the struggle and fright, like a great 

mad bull at bay, 
And the Injin meanwhile, with a half-skeer'd smile, ready to 

spring away. 

What did Phil do ? Well, I watched the two, and I saw Phil 

Blood turn back, 
Then he leant to the brink and took a blink into the chasm black, 



KATE M ALONE Y. I4I 

Then, stooping low for a moment or so, he drew his bowie bright, 
And he chucked it down the gulf with a frown and whistle, and 
lounged from sight. 

Hands in his pockets, eyes downcast, silent, thoughtful and grim, 
While the Panther, grinning as he passed, still kept his eyes on 

him ; 
Phil Blood strolled slow to his mates below, down by a mountain 

track. 
With his lips set tight and his face all white, and the Panther at 

his back. 

I reckon they stared when the two appeared ! but never a word 

Phil spoke — 
Some of them laughed and others jeered — but he let them have 

their joke ; 
Pie seemed amazed, like a man gone dazed, the sun in his eyes too 

bright. 
And, in spite of their cheek for many a week, he never offered to 

fight. 

And after that day he changed his play, and kept a civiler tongue. 
And whenever an Injin came that way, his contrairy head he 

hung; 
But whenever he heard the lying word, " Ifs a Lie ! " Phil Blood 

would groan ; 
'■^ A snake is a S7iake, make no mistake', but an Injin' s flesh and 

bone ! " 

Robert Buchanan. 



KATE MALONEY. 



In the winter, when the snowdrift stood against the cabin door, 
Kate Maloney, wife of Patrick, lay nigh dying on the floor — 
Lay on rags and tattered garments, moaning out with feeble 

breath, 
" Knale beside me, Pat, my darlint ; pray the Lord to give me 

death." 



142 KATE MALONEY. 

Patrick knelt him down beside her, took her thin and wasted 

hand, 
Saying something to her softly that she scarce could understand. 
" Let me save ye, oh, my honey ! Only spake a single word, 
And I'll sell the golden secret where its wanted to be heard. 

" Sure it cuts my heart to see ye lyin' dyin' day by day, 

When it's food and warmth ye 're wanting just to dhrive yer pains 

away. 
There's a hundred goolden guineas at my mercy if ye will — 
Do ye knozv that Alickey Regan'' s in the hut upon the hill? 

Kate Maloney gripped her husband, then she looked him through 

and through ; 
" Pat Maloney, am I dhraming ? Did I hear them words o' you .-* 
Have I lived an honest woman, lovin' Ireland, God and thee. 
That now upon my death-bed ye should spake them words to 



" Come, ye here, ye tremblin' traitor ; stand beside me now, and 

swear 
By yer soul and yer hereafter, while he lives ye will not dare 
Whisper e'en a single letter o' brave Mickey Regan's name. 
Can't I die o' cold and hunger ? Would ye have me die o' shame ? 

" Let the Saxon bloodhounds hunt him, let them show their filthy 

gold ; 
What's the poor boy done to hurt 'em ? Killed a rascal rich and 

old— , 
Shot an English thief who robbed us, grinding Irish peasants 

down ; 
Raisin rints to pay his wontons and his lackeys up in town. 

" We are beasts, we Irish peasants, whom these Saxon tyrants 

spurn ; 
If ye hunt a beast too closely, and ye wound him, won't he turn .^ 
Wasn't Regan's sister ruined by the blackguard lying dead, 
Who was paid his rint last Monday, not in silver, but in lead .'' " 



KATE MALONEY. I43 

Pat Maloney stood and listened, then he knelt and kissed his wife : 
" Kiss me, darlint, and forgive me ; sure, I thought to save your 

life ; 
And it's hard to see ye dyin' when the gold's within my reach, 
I'll be lonely when ye're gone, dear — " here a whimper stopped 

his speech. 

******** 
Late that night, when Kate was dozing, Pat crept cautiously 

away 
From his cabin to the hovel where the hunted Regan lay ; 
He was there— .he heard him breathing, something whispered to 

him " Go !— 
Go and claim the hundred guineas — Kate will never need to 

know." 

He would plan some little story when he brought her food to 

eat, 
He would say the priest had met him, and had sent her wine 

and meat. 
No one passed their lonely cabin ; Kate would lie and fancy still 
Mick had slipped away in secret from the hut upon the hill. 

Kate Maloney woke and missed him ; guessed his errand there 

and then ; 
Raised her feeble voice and cursed him with the curse of God 

and men. 
From her rags she slowly staggered, took her husband's loaded 

gun. 
Crying, " God, I pray Thee, help me, ere the traitor's deed be 

done ! " 

All her limbs were weak with fever as she crawled across the 

floor ; 
But she writhed and struggled bravely till she reached the cabin 

door ; 
Thence she scanned the open countr}-, for the moon was in its 

prime, 
And she saw her husband running, and she thought, " There yet is 

time." 



144 TOM. 

He had come from Regan's hiding, past the door, and now he 

went 
By the pathway down the mountain, on his evil errand bent. 
Once she called him, but he stopped not, neither gave he glance 

behind. 
For her voice was weak and feeble, and it melted on the wind. 

Then a sudden strength came to her, and she rose and followed 

fast, 
Though her naked limbs were frozen by the bitter winter blast; 
She had reached him very nearly when her newborn spirit fled. 
" God has willed it ! " cried the woman, then she shot the traitar 

dead ' 

From her bloodless lips, half frozen, rose a whisper to the sky — 
" I have saved his soul from treason ; here, O Heaven, let me die. 
Now no babe unborn shall curse him, nor his country loathe his 

name ; 
I have saved ye, oh, my husband, from a deed of deathless shame." 

No one yet has guessed their story ; INIickey Regan got away, 

And across the kind Atlantic lives an honest man to-day; 

While in Galway still the peasants show the lonely mountain 

side 
Where an Irishman was murdered and an Irishwoman died. 

Dagoiiet. 



TOM. 

Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew. 

Just listen to this : 
When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through, 
And I with it, helpless there, full in my view, 
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire, 
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher, 
But Robin, my baby-boy, laughing to see 
The shinirg I He must have come there after me, 



TOM. 145 

Toddled alone from the cottage without 

Any one's missing him. Then, what a shoul — 

Oh, how I shouted, " For Heaven's sake, men, 

Save little Robin ! " Again and again 

They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall. 

I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call, 

" Never mind, baby, sit still like a man, 

We're coming to get you as fast as we can." 

They could not see him, but I could ; he sat 

Still on a beam, his little straw hat 

Carefully placed by his side, and his eyes 

Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise, 

Calm and unconscious as nearer it crept. 

The roar of the fire up above must have kept 

The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name 

From reaching the child. But T heard it. It came 

Again and again — O God, what a cry ! 

The axes went faster, I saw the sparks fly 

Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat 

That scorched them — when, suddenly, there at thert Jeet 

The great beams leaned in — they saw him — then, crash, 

Down came the wall ! The men made a dash — 

Jumped to get out of the way — and I thought 

"All's up with poor little Robin," and brought 

Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide 

The sight of the child there, when swift, at my side, 

Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame 

Straight as a dart — caught the child — and then came 

Back with him — choking and crying, but — saved ! 

Saved safe and sound ! 

Oh, how the men raved, 
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed ? Then they all 
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall 
Where I was lying, away from the fire. 
Should fall in and bury me. 

Oh, you'd admire 
To see Robin now ; he's as bright as a dime, 
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time ; 

ID 



146 THE DIVER. 

Tom, it was, saved him. Now isn't it true, 
Tom's tlie best fellow that ever you knew ? 
There's Robin now — see, he's strong as a log — 
And there comes Tom too — 

Yes, Tom was our dog. 

Constance Fenimore Woolson. 



THE DIVER, 

TRANSLATED BY J. C. MAGAN. 

" Baron or vassal, is any so bold 

As to plunge in yon gulf, and follow, 
Through chamber and cave, this beaker of gold — 

Which already the waters whirlingly swallow ? 
Who retrieves the prize from the horrid abyss 

Shall keep it : the gold and the glory be his ! " 
So spake the king, and, incontinent flung 

From the cliff, that, gigantic and steep, 
High over Charybdis's whirlpool hung, 

A glittering wine-cup down in the deep ; 
And again he asked : " Is there one so brave 

As to plunge for the gold m the dangerous wave ? 
And the knights and the knaves all answerless hear 

The challenging words of the speaker; 
And some glanced downward with looks of fear, 

And none are ambitious of winning the beaker. 
And a third time the king his question urges — 

" Dares none, then, breast the menacing surges t 
But the silence lasts unbroken and long ; 

When a page, fair-featured and soft. 
Steps forth from the shuddering vassal-throng, 

And his mantle and girdle already are doffed, 
And the groups of nobles and damsels nigh 

Envisage the youth with a wondering eye 



THE DIVER. 147 

He dreadlessly moves to the gaunt crag's brow, 

And measures the drear depth under; — 
But the waters Charybdis had sv/allowed, she now 

Regurgitates, bellowing back in thunder ; 
And the foam, with a stunning and horrible sound, 

Breaks its hoar way through the waves around. 
And it seethes and roars, it v;elters and boils, 

As when water is showered upon fire ; 
And skyward the spray agonizingly toils, 

And flood over flood sweeps higher and higher, 
Upheaving, downrolling, tumultuously, 

As though the abyss would bring forth a young sea. 
And now, ere the din rethunders, the youth 

Invokes the great name of God ; 
And blended shrieks of horror and ruth 

Burst forth as he plunges headlong unawed ; 
And down he descends through the watery bed, 

And the waves boom over his sinking head. 
Now, wert thou even, O Monarch ! to fling 

Thy crown in the angry abyss, 
And exclaim, " Who recovers the crown shall be king 1 " 

The guerdon were powerless to tempt me, I wis ; 
For what in Charybdis's caverns dwells 

No chronicle penned of moi-tal tells. 
Full many a vessel beyond repeal 

Lies low in that gulf to-day. 
And the shattered masts and the drifting keel 

Alone tell the tale of the swooper's prey. 
But hark ! — with a noise like the howling of storms, 

Again the wild water the surface deforms. 
When lo ! ere as yet the billowy war, 

Loud raging beneath, is o'er. 
An arm and a neck are distinguished afar^ 

And a swimmer is seen to make for the shore ; 
And hardily buffeting surge and breaker. 

He springs upon land, with the golden beaker. 
And lengthened and deep is the breath he draws, 

As he hails the bright face of the sun ; 



48 THE DIVER. 

And a murmer goes round of delight and applause. 

He lives ! — he is safe ! — he has conquered and won ! 
He has mastered Charybdis's perilous wave ! 

He has rescued his life and his prize from the grave ! 
Now, bearing the booty triumphantly, 

At the foot of the throne he falls, 
And he proffers his trophy on bended knee; 

And the king to his beautiful daughter calls, 
Who fills with red wine the golden cup, 

While the gallant stripling again stands up, 
" All hail to the King ! Rejoice, ye who breathe. 

Wheresoever Earth's gales are driven ! 
For ghastly and drear is the region beneath ; 

And let man beware how he tempts high Heaven ! 
Let him never essay to uncurtain to light 

What destiny shrouds in horror and night. 
The maelstrom dragged n\e dov.-n in its course ; 

When, forth from the cleft of a rock, 
A torrent outrushed with tremendous force, 

And met me anew with deadening shock ; 
And I felt my brain swim and my senses reel, 

As the double flood whirled round me like a wheel. 
But the God I had cried to answered me 

When my destiny darkliest frowned, 
And he showed me a reef of rocks in the sea, 

Whereunto I clung, and there I found 
On a coral jag the goblet of gold. 

Which else to the lov/ermost crypt had rolled. 
And the gloom through measureless toises under 

Was all in a purple haze ; 
And though sound was none in these realms of wonder, 

I shuddered when under my shrinking gaze 
That wilderness lay developed, where wander 

The dragon, the dog-fish and sea-salamander. 
And there I hung, aghast and dismayed. 

Among skeleton larvce ; the only 
Soul conscious of life — despairing of aid 

In that vastness untro.ulcn and lonclv. 



THE DIVER. 



149 



Not a human voice — not an earthly sound — 

But silence, and water, and monsters around ! 

Soon one of these monsters approached me, and plied 

His hundred feelers to drag 
Me down to the darkness, when, springing aside, 

I abandoned my hold of the coral crag. 
And the maelstrom grasped me with arms of strength. 
And upwhirled and upbore me to daylight at length." 
Then spake to the page the marvelling king — 

" The golden cup is thine own, 
But — I promise thee further this jewelled ring, 
That beams with a priceless hyacinth stone, 
Should'st thou dive once more, and discover for me 
The mysteries shrined in the cells of the sea." 
Now, the king's fair daughter was touched and grieved, 

And she fell at her father's feet — 
" O father ! enough what the youth has achieved ! 

Expose not his life anew, I entreat ! 
If this your heart's longing you cannot well tame. 
There are surely knights here who will rival his fame." 
But the king hurled do\vn%yards the golden cup ; 

And spake as it sank in the wave — 
" Now, should'st thou a second time bring it me up, 

As my knight, and the bravest of all my brave, 
Thou shalt sit at my nuptial banquet, and she 
Who pleads for thee thus thy wedded shall be ! " 
Then the blood to the youth's hot temples rushes, 

And his eyes on the maiden are cast, 
And he sees her at first overspread with blushes. 

And then growing pale, and sinking aghast ; 
So, vowing to win so glorious a crown. 
For life, or for death, he again plunges down ! 
The far-sounding din returns amain, 

And the foam is alive as before. 
And all eyes are bent downward. In vain ! in vain ! 

The billows indeed re-dash and re-roar ; 
But while ages shall roll, and those billows shall thunder, 
That youth shall sleep under ! 

Schiller. 



150 FATHER JOHN. 



FATHER JOHN. 

He warn't no long-faced man o' prayer, 

A-peddlin' scriptures here and there, 

A-shootin' off his texts and tracts 

Without regard to dates and facts 

Or time or place, like all possessed, 

'Till weary sinners couldn't rest ; 

Fatiguin' unregenerate gents, 

And causin' molls to swear immense. 

He didn't snivel worth a cent> 

Nor gush to any great extent, 

But labored on a level plan — 

A priest, but none the less a man — 

Among the slums and boozing-kens,. 

And in the vilest holes and dens. 

Amongst the drabs and owls and worse— 

For saints in these here parts are skerce j 

This ward ain't nowadays flush o' them» 

It ain't no new Jerusalem. 

He preached but little, argued less: 

But if a moll was in distress, 

Or if a kinchen came to grief, 

Or trouble tackled rogue or thief. 

There Father John was sure to be. 

To blunt the edge o* misery; 

And somehow managed every time 

To ease despair or lessen crime. 

That corner house was alius known 

Around these parts as Podger's Own, 

'Till two pams in a druken fight 

Set the whole thing afire one night ; 

And where it stood they hypered round 

And blasted rocks and shovelled ground 

To build the factory over there — 

The one you see — and that is where 



FATHER JOHN. 151 

Poor Father John — God give him rest ! — 
Preached his last sermon and his best. 
One summer's day the thing was done ; 
The workmen set a blast and run. 
They ain't so keerful here, I guess, 
Where lives ain't worth a cent apiece, 
As in the wards where things is dear, 
And nothink ain't so cheap as here ; 
Leastwise the first they seed or knowed 
A little chick had crossed the road, 
He seemed to be just out o' bed, 
Barelegged, with nothink on his head; 
Chubby and cunnin', with his hair 
Blown criss-cross by the mornin' air j 
Draggin' a tin horse by a string, 
Without much care for anything, 
A talking to hisself for joy — 
A toddlin', keerless baby boy. 
Right for the crawlin' fuse he went, 
As though to find out what it meant ; 
Trudgin' towards the fatal spot, 
'Till less'n three feet off he got 
From where the murderin' thing lay still. 
Just waitin' for to spring and kill ; 
Marching along toward his grave. 
And not a soul dared go to save. 
They hollered — all they durst to do ; 
He turned and laughed, and then bent low 
To set the horsey on his feet, 
And went right on, a crowin' sweet, 
And then a death-like silence grew 
On all the tremblin', coward crew. 
As each swift second seemed the last 
Before the roaring of the blast. 
Just then some chance or purpose brought 
The priest ; he saw, and quick as thought 
He ran and caught the child, and turned 
Just as the slumberin' powder buj-ned. 



152 DEATH OF "OLD BRAZE." 

And shot the shattered rocks around, 
And with its thunder shook the ground. 
The child was sheltered ; Father John 
Was hurt to death ; without a groan 
He set the baby down, then went 
A step or two, but life was spent ; 
He tottered, looked up to the skies 
With ashen face, but strange, glad eyes. 
" My^ love, I come ! " was all he said. 
Sank slowly down, and so was dead. 
Stranger, he left a memory here 
That will be felt for many a year, 
And since that day this ward has been 
More human in its dens of sin. 

Peleg Arkwright. 



DEATH OF " OLD BRAZEr 

From the " Detroit Free Press.''* 

Some boys came down to No. I's house and reported 
that old Braze was going to die. Several of the men 
went to his little old shanty on Macomb Street, fear- 
ing that the report was true, and sorry that the old 
man's time had finally come, although he had little 
to live for. 

Braze used to run with a hand machine in the long 
ago, and he never felt quite right about the steamers 
coming here to break up fire companies and destroy 
time-honored customs. The clank of the fire-bell would 
rouse him even after he was old and bent and feeble, 
and he would creep down to the fire and cheer as the 
pipemen dashed into the smoke and flames, and as the 
hook and ladder boys hung to the cornices, and passed 



DEATH OF *' OLD BRAZE." 153 

in and out of the windows. He didn't say a word 
against the puffing, powerful steamers, but he longed 
for the days when No. 6 and No. 10 and No. 3 took 
water from the same cistern, and when the " Break 'er 
down, boys 1 " of the foreman drowned the roar of the 
flames. He used to come down to No. I's house and 
sit for hours at a time, and finally came to consider 
himself a member of the Department," although he 
couldn't quite get over the loss of drag-ropes, trumpets, 
red shirts, and a company fight now and then. 

Loneliness, poverty and want met the eyes of the 
visitors as they entered the little old house. Old 
Braze was lying on a miserable bed ; and a ragged boy, 
who had been sent in by a neighbor to keep the old 
man company, had grown weary and fallen asleep in 
his chair. 

" I sent you word, boys, because I'm going out of 
commission to-day!" said the old man to the firemen. 
" Yes, this old. machine is worn out, and she's to be laid 
up ! " 

On the wall over his head was a fireman's leather 
hat ; across the room hung a battered brass trumpet 
with its faded cord and tassels. Not a picture — not an 
ornament — bare walls, with here and there a spot 
through wliich one could see daylight. He had lived 
alone for years, and he had become used to the gloom 
and wretchedness and the poverty. Death had already 
set its seal upon the old man's face, and the firemen 
had not come an hour too soon. 

" Get any alarms last night ? " he asked, as the men 
sat around him. 

'' It had been a quiet night," they said. 



154 DEATH OF ''OLD BRAZE." 

" It's kinder tough to be laid away where a feller 
can't hear the bells ! " continued the old man, " and it 
seems as if he'd be lonesome ! I s'pose there'll be 
general alarms, and big fires, and all the steamers out, 
and I won't know anything about it." 

One of them asked him if he didn't want to see a 
clergyman. 

" No, I guess not," he replied. " I've been praying 
a little this morning, and kinder thinking over old days, 
forgiving everybody and asking forgiveness. When 
I'm gone, I'd like to have you boys man the brakes, 
and put me under the sod in sort o' decent style." 

They asked what should be done with his personal 
effects, and he replied : 

" I'd like the hat and trumpet put into the coffin 
along with me ; seems as if I'd rest better for knowing 
they were there. The neighbors can come in and take 
away the rest." 

After a few minutes his mind began to wander, and 
he whispered to himself. Then he shook off the weak- 
ness, and trying hard to discern the faces of the men 
through the glaze of death, he asked : 

" Isn't that an alarm ? " 

They smoothed back his thin, gray hair, and whis_ 
pered that he was mistaken. 

"I thought it struck box 421," he went on after a 
moment ; " but I s'pose death's picked up the drag- 
rope, and is hauling me out of the house." 

He was quiet again for two or three minutes, and 
then drew himself up, looked wildly around, and whis- 
pered : 



DEATH OF ''OLD BRAZE." 155 

" Tell No. 7 to play through two hundred feet of 
hose ! " 

They tried to lay him down, but he pushed them 
away and hoarsely shouted : 

" Down with the brakes — chuck'er, boys ; hi ! hi — 
h-a-a-a ! " 

He fell back, and the boy, roused by his words 
sprang oft the chair, and after a glance at the white 
face on the bed, he whispered : " Why, old Braze is 
dead ! " 

And he was. — Anon, 



BTJR, ID E T T'S 



Irish Dialect Recitations and Readings, 



CONTE NTS. 

The " Ager.'" 'EatieV- Answer. 

The Battle of Limerick. iLanio O'Dee. 
Biddy McGinnis ou the, Larry's on the Force. 
Photograph. jLove iu the Kitchen. 

Biddy McGiunis at the Make it Four Yer Houor. 



Photographer's. 
Biddy's Trials Among the 

Yanliees. 
Biddy's Trouble's. 
The Birth of St. Patrick. 
The Donkey. 
Don't be Tazing Me. 
The Emigrants. 
How Pat Saved His Bacon 
Irish Coqaetry. 
An Irish Letter. 
The Irish Philosopher. 
The Irish Schoolmaster. 
The Irish Traveller. 
An Irishman's Letter. 
The Irishman's Panorama 
Jimmy McBride's Letter. 

Bound in illuminated pap*^r cover. - 



The Vlau He Was Waiting 

to See. 
Mike's Confession. | 

Miss Maloney on the Chi- 
nese Question. ; 
Miss Maloney Goes to the; 

Dentist. I 

Modern Astronomy and 

Philosophy. i 

Mr. Moloney's Account of 

the Ball. t 

Noah Murphy and the\ 

Spirits. j 

The O'Nayle who had 

Lost the i3ig ''O." j 

O'Eeilly's Nightmare. 



O'Thello. 

Paddy Blake's Echo. 
Paddy's Courting. 
Paddy's Dream. 
Paddy the Piper. 
Paddy O'Rafther. 
Paddy's Reflections or 

Cleopathra's Needle. 
Pat's Criticism. 
Pat's Letter. 
Pat and His Musket. 
Pat and the Oyster^. 
Patrick O'Rouke and the 

Frogs. 
Paudeen O'Refferty's Say 

Voyage. 
Peter Mulrooney and the 

Black Filly. 
Tim Murphy's Irish Stew. 
The Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
The Widow Cummiskey. 

- Price, 25 cents. 



¥ew Comic Recitations & Humorous Readings 



A Baby's Soliloquy. 
Be-Yu-Ti-Ful Snow. 



CO NTE NTS. 

Add. Ryman's Fourth of How She Managed It. Pyrotechnic Polyglot. 

Jnlv Oration. How They Play the Piaio A Receipt for Actors. 

The A^ed Stranger, I in New Orleans. She Meant Business. 

!How to Manage Carpets. She Was Too Fastidioue, 
JHow Tom Sawyer Got Hid A Similar Case. 
The Blue Bottle Fly. 1 Fence White-washed. iThe Simple Story of G. 

The Book Agent Beats the How we Hunted a Mouse, i Washington. 

Bandit. An Idyl of the Peri ;>d. '" ~ 

TheBrakemanatChuich. The Irre-pre?sible Boy. 
Brigg's Rash Bet. Jim Wolfe and the Cats. 

Buck Fanshawe's Funeral John Spiner's Shirt, 
Butterwick's Little Gas Love in Oyster Bay, 

Bill. I Maidens, Beware ! 

The Captain's Speech to Mr. Ephraim Muggins on| 



A Speech which every 
( Congressman Could Un- 
I derstand. 

iSpoopendyke's Suspcnd- 
I ers. 

!A struggle with a Stove 
Pipe. 



the Moutgomeiy Guards Oily margarine. That Bad Boy Again, 

The Car Conductor's;Mr. Potts' Story. That Emerson Boy. 

Mistake. A New Primer. jThat Hired Girl. 

The Case of Young Bangs. Nobody's Mule. j'" Toujours Jamais." 

Confessing their Faults, i One of'Those Awful Chil- Travelling in a Mixed 
Faithless Sally Brown. | dren. ' Train. 

Fast Freight. jOnly a Pin. |The Two Boot Blacks. 

The Frenchman and the The Parent with the Hoof The Villain Still Pursued 

Flea Powder. A Plea for the Opera. ! Her 

Darius Greenand His Fly- The Presentation of the The Wrone Ashes, 

ing Machine. I Trumpet. jThe Yarn of the -'Nancy 

BeHad BeentoCandahar;The Puzzled Census! Bell." 
How " Ruby " Played. i Taker. j 

Illustrated paper cover, ------ Price, 25 cents. 

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Burdett's Dramatic Recitations and Readings. 

Compiled and arranged for Reading, Speaking, Recitations and Elecutionary 



exercises. 

Baron's Last Banquet,The. 

Benediction, The. 

Boat-Race, The. 

Death. 

Death-bed of Benedict Ar- 
nold. 

Death of the Drunkard, 
The. 

Death of King John. 

Death of Murat. 

Death of the Old Squire, 
The. 

Death of the Reveller,The. 

Dream of Eugene Aram, 
The. 

Dying Hebrew, The. 

Education. 

Evangelist, The. 

Fearless DeCourcy, The. 

Flight for Life, The. 



CONTENTS. 

Forgive, — No, Never. 
Forgotten Actor, The. 
Galley-Slave. The, 
Game Knut Played, The. 
Ivan, The Czar. 
Jean Goello's Yarn. 
King Robert of Sicily. 
Last Banquet, The. 
Legend of the Church of 

Los Angeles, A. 
Legend of a Veil. 
Leper, The. 
Little Ned. 
" Lynch for Lynch." 
Mary Queen of Scots. 
Marseillaise at Sebastopol, 

The. 
Mask and Domino. 
Night Watch, The. 
Ode to Eloquence. 



Bound in illuminated paper coven - 



O Maria, Regina Misericor- 
diae. 

One of King Charles' Mad- 
cap Men. 

Painter of Florence, The. 

Parrhasius. 

Portrait, The. 

Ramon. 

Rescue, The. 

Richelieu ; or, the Con. 
spiracy. 

Sea Captain's Storj', The. 

Spanish Page, The. 

Three Words (The), Ar- 
nold, the Traitor. 

Tiger Bay. 

Told at the Falcon. 

Two Loves and a Life. 



Price, 25 cents. 



BUEDITT'S NIGRO DIALECT RECITATIONS AID HUMIIRIHIS READINGS. 

Containing the latest and best hints of modern Negro Ministrelsy, being by far 
the most perfect book of its kind ever published. 

CONTE NTS. 
An Examination in History. | Kentucky Philosophy, jShip of Faith, The. 

Apples: an Original Negro Mahsr John. ^Solium Fac', A. 

■^ --' Marcellino's Con version. Sunday Fishin'. 

Marriage a Mighty Serious Teco Brag's Lecture. 
jTer'ble 'Sperience, A. 
Terpsichore in the Flat 

Creek Quarters. 
Three Wishes, Ihe. 
Uncle Anderson on Pros- 
perity. 
Uncle Billy and the Civil 

Rights Bill. _ 
Uncle Eph Kimble's Mis- 
take. 



A. 



L.ecture 
Bad Churchman 

Blind Ned. ' Thing. 

Brother Anderson. Momma Phoebe. 

Brother Gardner and Judge; Negro Aphorisms 

Cadaver. j"' Nigger Made Happy." 

Brother Gardner on Music. " No Party To-Night." 
Brudder Bones's Lovel Old Daddy Turner. 

Scrape. I Old Hostler's Experience, 

Brudder Plato Johnson's! The. 

Sermon. "Ole Man's" Lament, The. 

" Business " in Mississippi. Old Sambo Puzzled 



the 



Caesar Rowan 
Christmas Baby, The. 
Christmas Night in 

Quarters. 
Colored Preacher's Relig 

ious Experience, A. 
Darky Bootblack, The. 
Darky Preacher, The. 
Darky's Story, The. 
De Cake Walk. 
Devil's Ride, The. 
First Banjo, The. 
Half- Way Doings. 
How Persirnmons 

Cah ob de baby. 

Bound in illumiuated paper cover. - 



Old Si Pilots a 'Possum, Uncle Gabe's White Folks. 

Hunt. _ jUi.cle Ike's Roosters. 

Parson Snow's Broa d Hint.jUncle Joel. 
Pine Town Darky D ebatingjUncle Ned's Defence. 

Society, The. Uncle Pete and Mars» 



George. 
Uncle Reuben's Baptism. 
Vvar of Races, The. 
'Whar'sde Kerridge ? " 



Plar Lation Song, A. 
Precepts at Parting. 
Professor Barbour's E xperi- 

ment. 
Rev. Plato Johnson Visits What's a DoUa to a Man 

New York, The. wid a Family 

Rev. Uncle Jim's Sermon, IWhat Troubled the Nigger. 

The. Wounded in the Corners. 

Took Sambo's Dilemma. 

I Sam's Feast. I 

Price, 25 cents. 



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BXJI^IDETT'S 



Patriotic Recitations and Readinss. 

A carefully compiled collection of Patriotic recitals, de- 
signed and arranged for Public or Parlor Reading. 



CONTENTS, 



After the Battle. 

America. 

American Flag, The. 

Arnold Winkleried. 

Barbara Frietchie. 

Battle of Fort Moultrie, The. 

Battle-Flag at Shenandoah, The. 

Battle of Bunker Hill. 

Battle of Lexington, The. 

Battle of Lookout Mountain, The. 

Battle of Gettysburg, The. 

Battle-Flags, The. 

"Bay Billy." 

Bivouac of the Dead, The. 

Blue and the Gray, The. 

Boston Boys. 

Caldwell of Springfield. 

Capture of Stony Point, The. 

Charge by the P'ord, The. 

Columbia. 

Conquered Banner, The. 

Decoration Day. 

Drafted. 

Duty of the American Scholar. 

E Pluribus Unum. 

Ensign-Bearer, The. 

Foes United in Death. 

Fourth of July. 

Georgia Volunteer, The. 

Gun of New Orleans, The. 

John Burns of Gettysburg. 

Kearny at Seven Pines. 

Kelly's Ferry. 

Bound in illustrated paper 
For sale by all Booksellers, 
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Kentucky Belle. 
Little Regiment, The. 
Lookout Mountain, 1863. 
Miles Keogh's Horse. 
Nation's Hymn, The. 
Nation's Dead, The. 
Old Sergeant, The. 
Old Soldier's Story, The. 
Old Surgeon's Story, The. 
Old Soldier Tramp, The. 
Old Canteen, The. 
One in Blue and One in Gray. 
Opposition to Misgovernment, 
Our Whole Country. 
Our Country. 
Our Heroes. 
Paul Revere's Ride- 
Patriotism. 
Patriot Spy, The. 
Pride of Battery B, The. 
Revolutionary Rising, The. 
Saving of the Colors, The. 
Scott and the Veteran. 
Sheridan's Ride. 
Somebody's Darling. 
Sprig of Green, The. 
Stars and Stripes, The. 
Substitute, The. 
Sword of Bunker Hill, The. 
Tribute to our Honored Dead, A. 
Union and Liberty. 
Union of the States, The. 
Union Linked with Liberty. 

cover. Price, 25 cents. 

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E][CBl^ioii ^eoiMion^i^eadiiig^ 



3sro- 3. CO 

Asleep at the Switch. 

Battle of Waterloo, The. 

Benediction. 

Biddy Maginness at the Photogra- 
pher's. 

Billy's Rose. 

Black Horse and his Rider, The. 

Book Canvasser, The. 

Brier Rose. 

Californian and a New York 
Segar, A. 

Caoch the Piper. 

Cataract of Lodore, The, 

Catawba Wine. 

Children We Keep. The. 

Chinese Excelsior, The. 

Clothing Business, The. 

Coals of Fire. 

Co mo. 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-Night. 

Death of Robespierre, The. 

Difficulty in Rhyming. 

Farmer John. 

Fearless De Courcy, The. 

Flash. (The Fireman Story.) 

Fly Cogitation, A. 

Going to School. 

Grander and the Gambler, The. 

Her Rival. 

How Girls Study. 

How Jane Conquest Rang the Bell. 

Jack. 

Kitchen Clock, The. 

Left. 



176 Pages, Paper Cover. 



3Nr T IE HNT T S : 

Life Boat, The. 

Life's Magnet, 

Mary's Lamb on a New Principle. 

Maud Rosihue's Choice. 

Miss Maloney on the Chinese Ques 

tion. 
Moll Jarvis O'Marley. 
Mrs. Smart Learns How to Skate. 
My Garden. 
My Lover. 
Nancy. 

Now and Then. 

Old Man in the Palace Car, The. 
Our Travelled Parson. 
Phrjme's Husband. 
Poor-House Man. 
Revenge is Sweet. 
Room Enough for All. 
Scandal, A. 
Seedy One, A. (A Tale of Fraud 

and Deception.) 
Sign-Board, The. 
Sister of Charity, The. 
Smoker's Soliloquy, A. 
Tale of a Dog, The. 
To a Skeleton. 

Trouble in the Amen Corner. 
Uncle Ned's Defence. 
Valentine, The. 
What is a Gentleman ? 
When. 

Witness, The, 
Wounded. 
Wrong Train, The, 

Price 25 cents. 




WILSON'S 



Ball-Room Guide : 



DANCING SEIiF-TAUGHT. 






The latest and most complete of any publicaiion of 
its kind out, embracing not only tliu wholf theory , mJ 
practice of Tei-psichorean Art." but full aud loquisite 
information for the giving of Ki;ckptions, Fakiiks, 
Balls, etc., fi-om the commencement to the ending, 
with clear directions for calllng out the hgukks ok 
E^ EKY DANCE, and a hostof other matters, all expressed 
m plain langnage, added to which are elf ar and prac- 
tical instruction diagrams of marches, forms of invi- 
tations, programmes, etc., together with thirty-eight 
pages of the latest and most fashionable coPYUKiHT 
Mi-ic, never before issued in book form, making this 
book the most thorough and complete publication on 
dancing ever issued. 



Bound in Illuminated 
Board Cover, with Cloth 
back. Price 75 cents, 

Boitnd in Iliuminated 
Pfiper Cover. 1 rice 50 
cents. 




German at a Glance. 

A new system, on tlie most simple principles, foi 
Universal SeK-Tnition, with English pronunciation of 
e-very word. By this system any person can become pro- 
ficient in the German language in a very short time. It 
is the most complete and easy method ever published. B^ 
Trinz Thimm. (Kevised Edition.) 

Bound in paper cover, - - - price 25c. 
Bound In boards, with clotli back, - price 35c. 

French at a Glance. 

[Jniform and arranged the same as " German at a 
.Glance/' being the most thorough and easy system for 
Self-Tuition. (Revised Edition.) 

Bound in paper cover, ... price 25c. 
Bound In boards, clotli back, - - price 35c. 

Spanish at a Glance. 

A new system for Self-Tuition, arrang-ed the same 
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Uniform in size and style with German, French, and 
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How to Draw and Paint. 

A Complete Handbook on the whole art of Draw- 
ing and Painting, containing concise instructions in 

Outline, Light and Shade, Perspective, Sketch- 
ing FROM Nature; Figure Drawing, Ar- 
tistic Anatomy, Landscape, Marine, 
AND Portrait Painting; 

the principles of Colors applied to Paintings^ etc., etc., 
with over 100 lUnstrations. 

1 2 mo, boards, with cloth back. Price 50 cents. 



It must be of great service to all teachers and studentg of drawing 
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It certainly seems to us the best work of the kind we have met with. 
-'-The Connecticut Farmer, Hartford. 

How TO Draw and Paint, a neat elementary manual. The little 
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tions lies in their simplicity, and the object of the author is well car- 
ried out : to afford the beginners such plain dii-ections as may be at 
once most serviceable, suggestive, and trustworthy. — New York Star. 

An excellent text-book, containing instruction in outline, light 
and shade, perspective, sketching, figure drawing, artistic anatomy, 
landscape, marine, and portrait painting, etc. It also contains over 
one hundred illustrations.— 37ie Golden Rule, Boston, Mass. 



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-THE- 



(sOMPIiBiItE DeBAIITBI^. 

CONTAINING^ 

Debates, Outlines of Debates, and. Questions 

FOR Discussion, to which is added an 

Original and complete Debate on 

Free Trade. 

In addition to these are a large collection of debatable 
questions. 

The autborities to be referred to for information being 
given at the close of every debate throughout the work, mak- 
ing it the most complete work on the subject ever published. 

Containing the following complete Debates : 

1. Is the Protection afforded to American industry by 
duties on imports beneficial to the American people ? 

2. Which is of the greatest Benefit to his Country, the 
Warrior, the Statesman, or the Poet ? 

3. J^TG the Mental Capacities of the Sexes eons? ^ 

4. Is Capital Punishment justifiable ? 

5. Does Morality increase with Civilization ? 

6. Has the Stage a Moral Tendency ? 

7. Which was the greater Poet, Shakespeare or Milton ? 

8. Which has done the greater Service to Mankind, the 
Printing Press or the Steam Engine ? 

9. Which does the most to make the Orator — Knowledge, 
Nature, or Art ? 

Bound in boards, with cloth back, containing over 200 
pages. Price 50 cents. 

For sale by all Booksellers, or will be sent, postpaid, on 
receipt of price. 

EXCELSIOR PUBLISHING HOUSE, 

29 and 31 Beekman Street, New York, N. T. 

p. O. Kox 114.4. 



